


Captain America: The Paths We Take

by Legume_Shadow



Series: Captain America: In the Line of Duty (Series) [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMFs, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort, Inspired by Marvel's Fear Itself, Inspired by Stargate SG-1, Martini Spycraft, Spies spying on spies, Spycraft, Stale Beer Spycraft, Steggy - Freeform, Steve and Bucky's relationship is like a Gordian Knot hence the '&' and '/' relationship tags, Stony - Freeform, Stucky - Freeform, Superhero Thriller Spycraft (Hopefully), The many incarnations of James “Bucky” Barnes and their psychological issues, Traipsing through realities and time like it's going out of style, War is hell, WinterWidow or BlackWinter, so much spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-09-16 18:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 147,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legume_Shadow/pseuds/Legume_Shadow
Summary: Captain America and his team, fugitives from the law, are recruited for a mission by his counterpart in another reality. The target: an arms auction to help their compatriots establish a foothold in a region, and to get a chance to grab a potentially powerful artifact – the Tesseract. It should only be a simple infiltrate-and-grab mission, right?  Post-CA:CW, Pre-A:IW and A:EG.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadow_Chaser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Point of View](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245858) by [Shadow_Chaser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser). 



> First Publishing: December 2018, AO3  
> Disclaimer: All characters (except for the ones created by me) belong to their respective owners. No profit is being made from this work of fiction.
> 
> I learned Russian a while ago (I read better than I speak), so my grasp of the syntax is a little rusty. I apologize in advance if there are some grammatical issues with my Russian.
> 
> Theme Music: 'Lines of Infinity' by Ninja Tracks

 

**Prologue**

_Reality: Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA Earth_

 

Captain James Barnes didn't know why he had expected his counterpart to look any different, as only a few days had passed since he had last talked to him. That conversation had only been a courtesy call – a simple message to let his counterpart, Sergeant James Barnes, know that someone from Steve Rogers' team was potentially crossing over to their reality.

He had preferred it only be Natasha Romanov who crossed over to their reality, but he supposed that he should have expected Steve to tag along. Even with the somewhat joking quip made by Steve about needing a vacation from being on the run, he had seen that the man needed more than just a moment to rest.

Yet, they had needed the help, had needed the expertise, as the operation had required the deception and duplicity of a majority of HYDRA's players not knowing that the Black Widow had been killed in Siberia. The loss of Madam Ophelia Hydra, Director and head of HYDRA had been keenly felt around the world, but the death of her super-soldiers had not been.

It was a gamble that Peggy had played – and for a while it worked. Many areas that had been under HYDRA control were now freed. SHIELD had moved in, but kept their distance from the governments, knowing that their presence was not entirely welcomed – not when people viewed them as similar to HYDRA.

When he and Daisy had crossed to the other reality a few months ago, it had been a dose of cold water thrown upon both of them. It was a reality free from the machinations of HYDRA and SHIELD, and it both frightened and awed him. Then, they had been thrown back in time. The reality of a war without end, of an ideology between two entities that could never compromise in that other reality, was a sobering reminder of their own reality.

At the present though, he wiped away his current train of thoughts, focusing back on the call that he had made. He didn't make the calls to his counterpart often, as his own duties usually kept him quite busy. Occasionally, a message would be left for him from his counterpart on the other side, and he would reply and leave his own message. Most of the things they discussed were related to memories and experiences in the past – a comparison of their lives lived, if he was feeling generous.

But there had been only one time in which his counterpart had used the line that the other reality's Wakanda had generously (and secretly) set up to specifically request aid. That had resulted in him and Daisy time-traveling to an incredibly dangerous time period in the other reality, just to prevent their own timeline here from unraveling as well.

The static on the other end of the connecting call dissolved, and his counterpart appeared. He saw him spare only a glance at the screen on the other end before continuing to work on whatever small gadgetry was strewn about the table. It was nighttime in Wakanda, judging by the harsh desk lamp shining upon him, and the fact that this was one of the rare times he was talking to his counterpart face-to-face.

“Nightmare?” he asked, even though it was the most obvious of reasons why his counterpart was up and answering the call.

“Hürtgen Forest,” came the short answer.

The silence that fell in between them was not comfortable at all, but this call in particular was not about their usual discussions. “Steve has been having nightmares,” he stated, getting right to the point.

He saw his counterpart continue to work on whatever he was working on with that lone arm and hand of his for another few moments. However, Sergeant Barnes' movements were slowing down as he saw him absorb the words, until he was sitting completely still at the table, staring at nothing in particular on the table.

“How long?” came the quiet question.

“Romanov said that its been on and off for the better part of a few months. Seemed to have become more frequent since his return from your reality's 1984. She's taken to gagging him at times, just so he doesn't bite through his tongue. Can't do anything about the noise though.”

He fell silent for a moment, running his hand through his hair, as he tried to will away the scene that he had walked away from only a few minutes before. “He doesn't remember his nightmares when he wakes up. At least he claims not to. What did you or the other Commandos do to help him through this, in the field?”

“He didn't have nightmares back then,” came the even quieter answer. “He had bad dreams. We all did, but it wasn't full blown screaming that kept everyone up.”

Another pause, another bout of silence, this one even more uncomfortable than the first, but he didn't let it linger long enough to just shut the damn transmission off. No, there was also another reason why he called, and it was to finish the last conversation they had had. He had only let it go then, because of his sudden undercover assignment, but no more.

“You need to tell him that you're doing better,” he bluntly stated. The last time he had worded it, it had been in a question of rationale, of a reason to justify.

“No,” came the equally blunt answer. “We're both now suffering from nightmares. That does not qualify as 'better', _pal_.”

He knew that he could threaten to out the fact that his counterpart was doing better; had had whatever programming HYDRA had implanted within him removed by Wakanda scientists. He could do so, but he didn't. He had been witness and had heard the underlying reaffirmation of the promise between his counterpart and Steve all those months ago.

He had also seen the exhaustion, the fatigue that pulled at his counterpart – the want for a small measure of peace and quiet. Wakanda honored the request of his counterpart for a place to stay – a haven of quiet that was sorely needed for a soldier who just wanted to stop fighting.

He knew and understood his counterpart's hesitancy and stubbornness in not letting Steve know that the commands, the programming that HYDRA had buried into his mind were gone. He knew that if he were in his counterpart's shoes, he might have done the same. But he was not his counterpart; the mirror that was cracked, and the mirror that he hated to see himself reflected in. The time to hide, and to not want to cause trouble for Steve was over.

His counterpart – not Sergeant Barnes, but just plain and simple James Buchanan Barnes – needed to _be_ there for Steve.

The irony was not lost on him, as he remembered that over a year ago, his counterpart had stated through actions rather than words that he needed to be there for Stevie when she had been at death's door. He remembered being picked up by his uniform and unceremoniously booted out of the ops planning room. He couldn't reach over and into the screen to do the same – to drag his counterpart to this reality – but he had to try with words.

“Stop being a coward,” he stated. “You're both going through shit right now that's got a lot of people worried. Romanov and the others on his team, they can only do so much for him. They haven't seen the shit both of you've seen and done during the war. If my Director Carter's stories about the war are anything to go by, I'm betting that Steve is reliving whatever battles you're living through – including Hürtgen Forest. _You_ need to be there for him.”

“And do what?” came the biting reply.

“Talk to him. Help him get through this. We only needed Romanov for a mission here. We didn't want Steve to be here, but fuck if I know what's happened to him since he's returned from 1984. He insisted on coming here. He said being in this reality was a _vacation_ , goddammit--”

“What aren't you telling me, Captain?” his counterpart cut in, his voice and tone taking on a rather sharp and dangerous quality.

It was different from the 'monster' that he had heard and seen before from the first time his counterpart and Steve landed in this reality. The tone was not the coldly threatening one that he had come to associate with his counterpart – the assassin that was the Winter Soldier. No, this was wholly different – in that it sounded incredibly protective. The tone promised grievous harm on anyone, be it ally or enemy, who hurt Steve Rogers; and that the target would never know when or what harm was to befall them.

“There's a mission we're about the execute. I'll leave the data packet and details with those at the silo, but suffice to say, there may be a potential snag associated with the mission. It's something that we can work around, but we could use your help – specifically with your skill set. You don't even have to announce your presence to the team, or even let Steve know you're there. It would be a simple in-and-out for you.”

He saw him press his lips together, thinning them for a few moments before quietly asking, “What _else_ aren't you telling me?”

“We encountered another reality traveler. I suspect that this traveler is having some undue, negative influence on Steve, but I'm not allowed to do anything about it.”

“Allowed?” his counterpart asked, giving him a dubious look. “Since when the hell did you ever obey orders? Who the hell is this traveler?”

“Need to know,” he stated. “It'll be in the packet at the silo.”

His counterpart stared at him, incredulity clearly in his eyes for dangling that kind of bait in front of him. “Let me guess: this traveler fucked up your mission that you requested Romanov for,” his counterpart stated with quite a sarcastic tinge in his tone.

Were he not used to his counterpart's prickly personality that now seemed to be a permanent fixture whenever they 'talked', he knew that he would have reacted differently to the statement made. “Long story short, we've 'enlisted' the traveler's help in this upcoming mission.”

“So then why the hell do you need me?”

“You're a super-soldier with a very specific skill set. You figure it out.”

* * *

_48 hours earlier..._

 

The mask was loosened from the man's neck; probably done so by the lone burly enemy operative who had gotten a surprise jump on him. Other than that, Steve could see no other sort of injury upon their mysterious shooter-turned-ally. However, he wasn't sure if he could call the sniper, or whatever he was, an ally. It had only been a few minutes since the man had blown all of their covers to kingdom come.

“Who the hell are you?” Steve heard his counterpart demand. Stevie was not the only one who had a gun pointed at the man – every person, save for Daisy, had a weapon of sorts aimed or brandished in the stranger's general direction.

Yet, even in the dim lighting of this rooftop battleground, the man suddenly dug his hand into the loosened fold of the mask. Steve couldn't help but grimace slightly as the memories of the Red Skull doing the same thing, came rushing back. The mask was removed and dropped to the ground, but the lighting afforded little to no other visual verification of the identity of the man. All any of them could discern was that the stranger's hair was dark, and not light as his mask had shown. It was only the two steps that the man took forward that finally allowed the light to play upon his face.

Steve felt his stomach turn to ice, as someone behind him let loose a heartfelt expletive. Standing before the six of them was Bucky, except that it was not Bucky as Steve knew. This iteration of James Buchanan Barnes, looked exactly like his counterpart in this other reality – short hair and all.

“LMD? Clone?” Daisy blurted out, as Steve saw her hands shake a little. “Cuz the Framework was all sorts of freaky shit--”

“Not a LMD,” the man that was not his reality's Bucky, nor apparently this reality's Bucky, stated. “Guess you can say that I'm from another reality.”

There was a familiar a touch of arrogance in the man's tone as Steve saw him shake his head slightly, before lifting his left arm up slightly and pulled out the knife that was embedded into the palm of his hand. The glove came with it as well. In what dim lighting there was in this place, Steve could see the gleam of silver reflecting the light – a mechanical left hand upon this other reality James Barnes.

An uneasy chill swept over Steve, though he did not understand why just staring at this other reality Bucky was causing that feeling. Even as the knife and glove clattered to the ground, Natasha was already taking a step forward, her gun pointed unwaveringly at this other incarnation of Bucky. Steve tensed, his guard raised in reaction to Natasha's actions.

“What do they call you?” she demanded.

“Natalia--” the man began, his tone a mixture of surprise, relief, and puzzlement.

Natasha's gun going off in the single shot she unleashed seemed louder than normal to Steve. Daisy flinched, while the others held themselves steady with their weapons still pointed at the man who had blown their covers. For a split second, the uneasy feeling in his stomach seemed to grow ten-fold as he saw the man standing in front of them glower ever so slightly. There was clear anger in his eyes – anger that Steve had seen in Bucky's eyes before, during the war – but there was also a profound pool of sadness.

The shot that Natasha had made was a deliberate miss though, as the bullet only scraped across the sleeve of the man's clothing – right across the apparent metallic deltoid muscle of the left mechanical arm. Even in the dim lighting conditions, Steve could feel a frown work down his lips as the fabric ripped and folded down slightly. Rather than the blood red star branded on the arm, there was a white star surrounded by both a blue and red concentric circles. It looked like a small illustrative replica of the shield.

“The Winter Soldier,” came the quiet, reluctant answer that sounded a little too even and too eerily calm in Steve's ears.

“One last question, Barnes,” Natasha stated, taking another step forward, her gun now pointed directly at the man's forehead. “Спутник.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This note should be at the beginning, but it would kind of spoil the prologue. There are at least three primary realities that this fic will deal with:  
> 1\. Avengers Earth  
> \-- The MCU.  
> 2\. Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA Earth  
> \-- This is the reality where Steve and Bucky were transported to in the first fic of the series.  
> 3\. Reborn Earth  
> \-- To be explored within this fic, but eagle-eyed readers can use the fandom tags to figure out what the reality is.
> 
> Delineation between each reality will be done when necessary. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this adventure! (I can't promise that it will be as bat-shit insane as the 'Fear Itself' comics storyline)


	2. безразличие (Apathy, re: Longing)

 

**Chapter 1: безразличие (Apathy, re: Longing)**

_72 hours earlier..._

_Reality: Avengers Earth (MCU)_

_Location: Unknown_

 

“I want those two hours of my life back, Wilson.”

Steve couldn't help but chuckle as he saw Sam backpedal a few steps as Natasha advanced on him, looking quite angry.

“Hey, hey,” he heard his friend say, holding his hands up in a placating manner, “look...I did warn you that that movie was catered to unique... tastes.”

“More like sophomoric humor,” Natasha stated, stopping her advance. She settled for crossing her arms over her chest, as she continued to say, “Next time, I'm choosing the movie.”

“Thank you,” Wanda stated, looking relieved.

“All right,” Sam answered, nodding, “but it better not be as boring as _Solaris_ \--”

A six-tone chime issuing up from the instrument panel in their quinjet, cutting off whatever else Sam was about to say. They all stiffened for a split second; the chime almost unfamiliar except that most of them remembered the last two times it had sounded. The first instance had been to ensure that appropriate secured connections in creating the secret channel had worked. The second time had been a most unexpected communique relayed from another reality, which ended up being a harrowing adventure through time that neither he nor Natasha had wanted to repeat.

Steve was already rising from where he had been sitting in the cargo hold and made his way into the cockpit. Taking a seat at the pilot's chair, Steve hit the appropriate button to silence the chime and activate the line. Natasha had slipped into the copilot's seat, Sam was leaning against the two seats slightly, and Wanda had wandered over to Natasha's right to lean against the cockpit panel. A woman's head appeared in the small holographic projection – familiar to the four of them, as she was the Wakandan scientist they've had contact with twice before.

“Captain Rogers,” the scientist greeted in a clipped tone, her accent a little heavier than the King of Wakanda's speech, but still understandable. “Code in.”

“Jericho-Six-Grass-Plutonium,” he calmly stated.

Though the activation was keyed to his, Natasha, and Sam's biometrics, the four-word phrase of random words was to verify whether or not any of them were under duress if a communique from Wakanda was sent. Wanda chose not to have her biometrics keyed, due in part to her infrequent, but clandestine visits to Vision. She herself had deemed it a little too dangerous to have the ability to answer the Wakanda call, should Vision inadvertently report anything of their activities to Tony.

It had made Steve a little startled and sad to hear such a line of thought issuing out from Wanda. Yet, since they had become fugitives from the law, he knew that they had to think differently in order to survive. He knew that he himself wouldn't have recognized himself if he encountered himself six years ago. Too much had changed for him, and the consequences of his actions and choices were something he knew he had to live with as best as he could.

At the moment though, he returned his attention to Wakandan communication. While it would have been easier for him to recite either the old or new phonetic alphabet, it would have been 'easier' so to speak, for any verbal confirmation to be cracked. At least that was what Natasha had stated when they had begun to discuss security measures for any sort of wireless communication.

“A message was captured in the repository about thirty minutes ago,” the Wakadan scientist began after a moment. “Message is as follows: Captain Rogers, this is your counterpart from the other reality. An opportunity to further cripple HYDRA has arisen that necessitates us to request one of your team members to assist us. With your permission, and if your team member is willing to, we would like to formally request that your Black Widow, Natasha Romanov, travel to our reality to help us on a mission. The duration should be two days or three at most. One for preparation and briefing, one for the execution of said mission. The third for any contingency ops. Please let us know within twelve hours. Thank you.”

“Copy receipt of message and request. We will reopen the channel within six hours to send an answer,” he stated. Though he wasn't sure, as the technology that enabled them to talk and pass through to the other reality was definitely beyond his comprehension, there always seemed to be a time delay whenever receiving or sending messages. It was not to say that the realities were not synced in the passage of time – they were – but that even the Wakandan scientists had not found an answer to the reason behind the delays yet.

“Confirm, Captain Rogers. Over and out,” the scientist answered.

As soon as the communications line was closed, Steve shifted slightly in his seat, and looked over towards Natasha. Even Sam and Wanda had expectant eyes on her. “Well?” he asked, knowing that Natasha knew that his question was not an immediate answer to whether or not she was going to go.

“They hate me, or at least the other me, there, Steve,” Natasha stated. “Why are they even asking for me, if not to just play my role as a HYDRA agent? I mean, I'm dead over there, and according to you, my death should have been a blow to HYDRA morale.”

She paused, and Steve knew better than to chime in at the moment, as the edges of her lips twitched up ever so slightly in a sardonic smile. He wasn't sure what to make of the look on her face as she tilted her head ever so slightly, asking him, “How sure are you that SHIELD in that reality isn't the equivalent of HYDRA here, Steve?”

Steve blanched, blinking rapidly for a few moments before composing himself. “They're good people, Nat,” he said, feeling slightly defensive. “I trust... no, I trusted them with my life. They promised to help Bucky and I find a way back to this reality, and they followed through with that promise. The Framework, HYDRA in there... that was all lies.”

“But how much of it was true, Steve?” Natasha pressed. Steve was about to protest and state what he had said a few times before when explaining what had happened to him and Bucky immediately after the fight against Tony, but she held her hand up to stop him from speaking.

“We might have been thrown back into time with their reality's Barnes and Quake, but that was only for a brief few days,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Those two are trustworthy, but from my experience and line of work, I still wouldn't trust them further than they could throw me. That's my gut instinct about the two. They're extremely well-trained agents – Barnes especially. Even though the two of them may be friends with you, their loyalty lies with their reality and whatever end goal their SHIELD has.”

She paused, leaning forward slightly, asking, “Steve... let me ask you again: how sure are you that SHIELD in that reality isn't HYDRA?”

He heard her, not just her words, but the intent behind it. Several years ago, he would have just taken her words at face value. However, since the fall of SHIELD and the forced closeness of working together that circumstances had thrown them into, he understood most of the layered meanings behind her words.

And he found that he could not answer her – at least not with his initial defense of those people he had met and worked within SHIELD of that reality. The old adage of finding out the true nature of friends while stuck in a stressful situation still applied, but as he looked back, when push came to shove, there were quite a lot of questionable things those in the other reality had done. He only came to know a handful of those people in the few weeks he and Bucky had been stuck there. Even then, his knowledge and interpretation of their intent had been colored by his previous knowledge of who they were in his reality.

“I don't know,” he said at last, meeting her eyes without flinching. “But I'd like to think that my faith in trusting that they'll do the right thing is still present. They are asking for our help, and they have been fighting a losing war against what HYDRA could have become in our reality, had we not taken down the Insight Helicarriers.”

“And yet, even without SHIELD or HYDRA here, the seeds planted by HYDRA here are still growing,” she said. “Paranoia through political divide, more mass surveillance and questioning by authorities disguised as benevolent protectionism; you name it, it probably has an acronym in the Intelligence community. They had a relatively peaceful world there, Steve. Yes, I remember you telling me that it was controlled by brainwashing and chip implants, but there was peace.”

“At the end of a gun, Natasha,” he pointed out, even though he knew that it need not be pointed out.

He could see her reasoning to not get involved. Even without the terrifying trip through time, he knew that Natasha had seen more, done more, to help shape the world as it was and is now, today. She, like Bucky, had been an instrument in the grand scheme of HYDRA – a tool used primarily by the Soviets to shape the world. Where as Bucky had been the precision instrument used by HYDRA through the Soviets, Natasha had been the poison spread among the masses by the Soviet with little input from HYDRA. He only knew and inferred it as such because of working in close proximity with her.

“Do you want to go?” he asked after a few moments.

“I thought I had six hours to think things through, Rogers,” she said, a small smile quirking up the edges of her lips.

“You do,” he answered.

“It's been quiet here,” Wanda unexpectedly put in. “You should go on a vacation, Steve.”

“Yeah, battle buddy with Natasha,” Sam also chimed in.

Steve frowned slightly as he caught Natasha staring at the two with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Okay,” he slowly began. “What did I do that is making _both_ of you wanting to kick me out?”

“Dude, nothing,” Sam said, shaking his head slightly. “It's just, Wanda just got back from seeing Vision. I took a trip to Detroit to visit my grandma. Natasha disappeared off the face of the Earth for a couple of days, only a few weeks ago...freaking all of us out--”

“I returned,” she answered in a blasé tone. “With information about one of Thor's Infinity Stones.”

“Yes,” Sam continued nodding, “thank you. Now we all know that freaking wizards exist.” Steve saw him shake his head slightly before focusing his attention back on him, saying, “Point is, Steve: you refuse to go see or contact Sharon, even after you told us you ran into her while in London. You refuse to contact Wakanda directly to see if there's been any progress made on removing those commands from Bucky's mind--”

“Sam,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You know why I can't do either of those things.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his tone slightly challenging. “I do. And that's made you a workaholic Steve. All you do is search, search, search, for any leads of whatever remnants of HYDRA and their associates remain, or for these Red Room leads. You gotta take a break, man.”

Steve opened his mouth to counter Sam's argument, but before he could say a word, Sam held up a hand to prevent him from saying anything. “Steve, I know you don't want to take a break, so that's why we're suggesting that you go with Natasha to the other reality. Get away from here for a while – two or three days is what the mission parameters said.”

“We've got a solid way to contact the two of you,” Sam continued in an earnest manner. “If we hear any updates about Bucky, or Wanda and I get into some trouble, we'll tell you.”

“That's assuming that I'll take the job they're requesting me to do, Sam,” Natasha stated, giving Sam a mild look.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, shrugging. “But even if you didn't, I'd still boot Steve into the other reality.”

“Sam—guys,” Steve began, feeling slightly exasperated at just how insistent they were on him not being here. He hated admitting that what Sam had pointed out was right – he hadn't 'taken a day off' since becoming a fugitive. Even though the four of them had just finished watching a movie via laptop, it was only a few hours of rest and relaxation.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Sharon again, or even go ask King T'Challa if any progress had been made on the removal of the commands from Bucky's mind. It was that whenever he felt himself idling, even watching a movie with his friends, his thoughts kept drifting into the past. He thought about what he could have done differently and what he should have said to Peggy and Bucky. Lately, he had been mulling over the one chance he had had to potentially change not only his fate, but also of the two people he cherished the most.

He didn't know what to do anymore, other than continue to protect the Earth as he only knew how to – even if it had to be in secret.

“It'll be fun, Steve,” Natasha said, snapping him out of his circular thoughts before they could spiral into the endless abyss he had found himself trapped in since returning from the harrowing trip to 1984.

“So you're going?” he asked, hoping that it looked like he had not briefly blanked out in front of the others. “You're accepting the mission, even after what you've told us about what you think about that reality?”

“I'll go only if you're coming with me,” she said, giving him a rather impish smile.

“Nat--” he began, a little annoyed at her cajoling. He knew though, that no matter what kind of protest he'd put up, she would always have a counter argument that was convincing enough – even to him. He could not deny that he would like to visit the other reality again, but he had hoped it would not be under such circumstances.

“Fine,” he said, acquiescing to his friends' demands.

There was no collective cheering, just nods of happiness from the others. It was Natasha's “Don't break my bird while we're gone, Sam,” that lightened the mood a little further.

As he fired up the engines to the quinjet, and the others busied themselves in preparation for travel and handoff, he began plotting the course to the Siberian silo. It was a slightly roundabout course, as there was always the risk of some military jet or even commercial airline pilot being more unusually observant than they usually were. However, the course plotted did take them close to Wakandan airspace.

A brief thought of perhaps finally giving into his desire to contact Wakanda for updates surfaced. As quickly as it had risen, he pushed it back down – silently reminding himself of the risks associated with it. Bucky was safe, he was protected, and so long as his best friend remained safely anonymous within Wakandan borders, he would remain so.

It would take time for the scientists to figure out how to remove the commands. Steve was willing to exercise as much patience as necessary, as he rather have Bucky back in his life hale and free, than continue to be a prisoner of the ghosts of HYDRA.

* * *

_Wakanda_

 

_It's not real._

я не знаю.

_That never happened._

я не знаю.

Bucky snapped awake, his breaths harsh and wheezy against his ears. His chest felt like a herd of elephants had just pounded over it as he briefly fought to calm and even his breathing out. It was almost automatic; his closing of his eyes and dropping his mind into a no-thought state. It took only less than a minute for him to control his breathing and feel the sudden adrenaline that had surged with his sudden wakefulness to recede.

The technique was not learned recently though – it had been a part of him for as long as he remembered – since even before he had enlisted into the US Army. It had initially been only to throw off the bullies who thought their hurtful words could drive him to hot anger like it drove Steve to. Whereas skinny, short Steve exploded into a fistful of rage on any insult, he wielded his rage like a cold iron bat – calm, precise, and hard hitting in a vulnerable area.

He had not refined his technique from any of the drill sergeants, but had refined it though observations during rifle training. That one simple technique to calm himself down had cascaded from there, allowing him to pick up his skills as a marksman. It had also been the one thing that his commanders had consistently remarked upon – his ability to 'keep calm and in control' during an intense firefight.

That was how he got promoted to Sergeant, and from there--

_It's not real._

я не знаю.

Bucky roughly shook his head, trying to dislodge the dream that was a cross between nightmare and memories from trickling through again. He raised his hand to his face, feeling the dampness in his hair and face from the sweat brought on by the dream. The less he tried to think about what he had dreamed about, the better, but he knew that he was going to have trouble getting back to sleep.

Throwing the light blanket off of himself, the relatively cool, but still humid air of a Wakandan night hit his bare skin. His eyes were already well adjusted to the darkness even before he had taken two steps away from his bed. Reaching the small desk within the hut, he turned on the desk lamp, squinting slightly at the harshness of the light before blinking.

Sitting down, he pulled forward the notebook that was lying on top of a pile of bits and pieces of what used to be a cuckoo clock. To continue refining his dexterity and balance with one arm, Shuri had suggested that he practice on both the big stuff – hauling and bundling hay – and the little stuff, such as the cuckoo clock. He had considered it a victory when he had finally silenced the damn thing; not by smashing the clock to pieces, but completely dismantling it into what it was now. The challenge now was to put it back together one-handed – without that noisy cuckoo.

Opening the notebook to a blank, fresh page, he then reached over to pluck the pen out of its holder. Whenever his nights leaned more towards insomnia and bad nightmares, he usually either wrote more memories into the notebooks, or worked on something small on his workbench. Tonight, he was not in the mood to fiddle with tiny screws or washers.

He was about ten minutes into writing when a familiar 'chime' near his lamp rung. He wanted to ignore it, to just let it go to a message, but it had been many months since he had last talked or even seen the other person on the end of that line. He had thought his counterpart's undercover assignment would take longer. He did, however, remember that his counterpart had stated that this secret communications line between him and his counterpart was logged into his counterpart's Will.

Had his counterpart's cover been blown and someone kill him?

Bucky found himself strangely and oddly annoyed yet angry at the same time, if that turned out to be true. However, the only way to truly find out what happened, was to answer. Thus he reached over he activated it.

“You're alive,” he bluntly stated as his counterpart's 3D, semi holographic image resolved above the communications device.

“Good to see you to,” his counterpart dryly answered. “Didn't know you fucking cared.”

“I wasn't about to make up some bullshit excuse to your Director Carter about this,” he stated. “I certainly could never convince my reality's Agent Carter of any of my lies when I worked with her during the war. So it's more beneficial to me if you're alive.”

“Meat sack shield,” his counterpart quipped.

Bucky merely blinked at him, waiting for him to get to the point before he would terminate the contact. He did not need the irritating cajoling to contact Steve to start again. He didn't know why his counterpart insisted that he'd contact Steve – not when he had explicitly laid it out to his counterpart his reasons. He also didn't remember himself being such a nagging person either whenever he saw a reflection of himself appear on his counterpart. Then again, he still had some hazy spots in his memories.

“I got a break in my undercover assignment, and its an advantage that I'm not going to squander. I requested one of Steve's teammates to come – specifically Romanov. You didn't talk much about her in the past, but is there anything skill-set wise that I need to know that doesn't match the former Black Widow in my reality? Other than the fact that she is not a super-soldier in your reality.”

“No,” he stated after thinking about his counterpart's request for a moment. “Good hunting with Romanov, James.”

“Thanks.”

The line was closed, and Bucky sat back in the chair, feeling a little worried. It was not Romanov he was worried about, as he stared at the journal, the strewn bits and pieces of a cuckoo clock, and the communications device. He didn't know why he was feeling slightly apprehensive for his counterpart, as he knew that his counterpart had the skill set to infiltrate and complete whatever mission that reality's Director Carter had assigned him. Perhaps it was the unstated mission that had him worried, as it most likely involved deep levels of infiltration into the still-dangerous HYDRA.

He glanced at his hand, as he recalled his and his counterpart's previous conversation. He had made no excuse for what he had done to make sure two futures were still set in stone after the transportation to 1984. He knew that he had emotionally hurt Steve by indirectly sending him on that mission, seemingly 'testing' him to see what he would do. That had not been his intent, but the analytical side of his mind, which he was still unable to silence, had drawn that conclusion.

It was another thing to add to his ever-growing shit list. That list had a lot of ticks, and most of it were variations of the ways he had hurt Steve both emotionally and physically in the past few years. Half of it had been because he had been under the control of HYDRA, but he felt that that was a pittance of excuses. The other half was because he was so damn afraid--

“There is no fucking barrier separating me and the monster inside of me anymore,” he softly growled into the silence.

The commands were as much of a crutch used against him, as they were to support him. When he had the commands, they held the full abilities of the Winter Soldier back. He still thankfully had gaps in his memories for some of the missions that he had undertaken as the Winter Soldier in service to the Soviet Union. However, what missions he remembered now made him wonder if the Soviets had also reconditioned him every single time because they wanted deniability for what they had used him to do.

There was no more barrier now, and though he was grateful to Shuri, he was afraid that the monster that had lurked in the proverbial cage could overtake him at any time. Would he be conscious of his actions? Would he be strong enough to overpower himself and stop his actions before he hurt someone?

_You are not a monster!_

Bucky leaned his head into his hand, closing his eyes as Steve's voice echoed vehemently in denial within his mind. “I can't Steve,” he softly stated into the silence. “I can't live up to the ideal you see in me. Hell, I don't even know _how_ you see all those things in me. I want to get better – I'm trying to get better, but it's been slower than I liked. I want to keep our promise: forward and together until the end of the line. I honestly want to keep it, because I've hurt you too many times.”

He paused, lifting his head back up as he stared at the communications device. “I'm sorry, Steve,” he continued to say. “But I'm afraid that I might just fail not only myself, but you as well. You called me _a_ winter soldier, but what you fail to see, Steve, is that I am _the_ Winter Soldier. If I ever go back into war or hell, even into a fight, I am afraid that _I_ will cease to exist.”

“Fearless Bucky. I remember you calling me that after the first time I jumped into the water at the end of the pier on Coney Island. I like it here, Steve,” he said, the edges of his lips quirking up in a sad smile. “I hate being far away from you, but I know that you can't and won't stop getting into trouble. I'm sure Romanov traveling to another reality is going to end with you on some adventure here while she's gone.”

“I want to help you. I want to protect you, even though you'd argue that point with me until we're both blue in the face. I want to be there for and with you, but I have to be selfish on this, Steve. I want to stay who I am – right here, right now.”

Silence answered his confession .

* * *

_Siberian Silo_

 

Steve stared at the reality portal that connected the two worlds. It was crackling with energy, but the size of it was big enough to easily allow a person to cross without touching the jagged edges. It looked almost like the portal that the Tesseract had created over the skies of New York, except that there were no Chitauri or their massive war beasts barreling through.

He glanced over as Natasha stepped up beside him with a mild look upon her face. “Shall we?” she said, giving him a cheeky look. “Age before beauty.”

“Oh you did not just--” he began, but fell silent as he sighed and shook his head in exasperation. Taking the invitation for what it was worth though, he approached and crossed into the portal.

It didn't feel like being zapped with electricity, but neither did it feel comfortable. It felt like he had pulled a rather fuzzy woolen sweater over himself and that the static electricity was humming over him for a brief moment. It was an extremely strange feeling that left the tips of his fingers and his toes tingling.

On the other side though, he couldn't help but openly grin as he saw his counterpart, Stephanie Rogers, the Captain America of this reality where HYDRA had defeated SHIELD. A few yards away, to give them a semblance of privacy in this cavernous hall, were an assembled assortment of Inhuman and SHIELD agents. They were stationed here to guard the portal from both HYDRA in this reality, and any enemy that could possibly cross over that Wakanda could not stop.

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted, his smile becoming wider as he felt happy to see his counterpart hale and healthy. “You grew out your hair.”

“Captain Rogers,” she answered, giving him a smile as she approached. “You as well. Nice beard.” Her smile was short-lived though as she stopped a few steps away from him, her eyes flickering to something behind him.

He paused and turned slightly, noticing that her expression had faded to a neutral look, as he saw Natasha emerge from the portal. As prepared as he was to defend Natasha from any erratic behavior by people in this reality, he was rather surprised when his counterpart immediately brushed past him and extended a hand out, stiffly saying to Natasha, “Welcome, Agent Romanov.”

“Captain Rogers,” Natasha greeted in a decidedly neutral tone. Steve could not read anything off of her. “It's good to see you again.”

“I noticed that you changed your hair color. It will save some time for the mission,” Stevie stated, letting go and stepping back so that she was facing the two of them now. “I'm assuming you'll want in on this mission as well, Steve?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” he answered. “But if your Director Carter has other uses for my skills, I'd be happy to help.”

“We'll see when we get there,” she answered, gesturing for the two of them to follow her.

As they passed those guarding the portal, Steve could see more than a few staring at Natasha. Some of them had expressions of disbelief that were barely concealed, and more than a few were glaring rather venomously at her. Steve discreetly took a half-step closer to Natasha, silently glad that Sam and the others had insisted on him going with Natasha here. If anyone decided to attack Natasha right now, trampled pride or not, he was going to make sure she was protected. He could only wonder how she had reacted, and managed not to break a lot of arms and legs the first time she had arrived here with King T'Challa.

He knew that he could not change their opinions on Natasha, no matter how much he wanted them to not see this reality's Black Widow in his reality's Black Widow. The Black Widow here had shaped the world, much like how the Winter Soldier had in his and Natasha's reality. But there was a mission to be had – to most likely utilize the fear and reputation that the Black Widow of this reality had left behind.

Natasha was a strong woman, both in will and in physicality. She was also a master in keeping her emotions so closed and close to her that there were times where Steve couldn't even figure out what she was thinking. She was also a master of deception, and he knew that she could take care of herself. She would have never agreed to the mission, just to get him out the door and on a 'vacation'. He knew that there was more reasoning to her decision than that shallow of one.

He was not going to press her for a true answer, as it was as he said to Stevie: Natasha was the one they needed. He, Steve, was technically the interloper on this mission – the extra who most likely could be used elsewhere in the war against HYDRA. If it meant working with this reality's Director Carter, he would do so, even if it became uncomfortable for him to. He was sure that this reality's James Barnes had told Director Carter what exactly had happened when a 0-8-4 had transported him, Natasha, Daisy Johnson, and James back to 1984.

As they wound their way through the silo, Steve couldn't help but briefly relive what had happened here. He remembered the acrid smells of explosives, and the sharpness of lightning burning through the air. The sights were as if they had happened only yesterday – the five Soviet super-soldiers and the Black Widow surrounding Madam Hydra, and the desperate fight he and the others had put up to reach and stop them.

He remembered his hoarse shouts for Madam Hydra to stop erasing what was left of his best friend, remembered the fracturing of Bucky's mind happening in front of him. He couldn't do anything back then, as Madam Hydra, or AIDA as she had been known in both this reality and apparently his own, had mercilessly stated almost all of the commands. Only one had been left behind – one command that separated Bucky from erasure.

“Is Bucky doing any better?”

Steve blinked, as he glanced over and realized that he had stopped in front of the indentation within the walls of where he and Stevie had confronted the super-soldiers and AIDA. The indentation had been made by him when Black Widow had teleported and rammed him into this wall during their fight. It had also been the area where Bucky, swimming somewhere between the Winter Soldier memories and whatever else had been ripped apart by the commands, had saved him from being killed by this reality's Black Widow.

“Sorry,” he apologized, and began to walk forward again, gesturing for his counterpart to continue to guide them to the exit. He didn't walk behind her though, and walked by her side. Natasha walked on the other side of him, her expression still neutral, but looking slightly more relaxed, now that they were away from the eyes and ears of those guarding the portal.

“To answer your question,” he continued after a few moments. “No. I don't know if Bucky's doing any better. I don't want to put him in danger by contacting Wakanda.”

“Oh,” she answered, and Steve thought he heard a slight tone of disappointment in her acknowledgment.

He didn't think much of it, as he knew that there were just enough nuances and differences between their realities to have both of them end up in similar yet dissimilar relationships with their respective Bucky. Yet, there was a mutual link between the four of them, and it was not just because both he and she kept the same promise to their respective Bucky: to be there with each other until the end of the line. The harrowing weeks that they had all spent together had in an odd sense, brought them all closer to each other. It was natural for her to sound slightly disappointed by the lack of news on his Bucky.

“How's the team?” he asked.

“Daisy was transferred to Strike Alpha after she and Bucky returned. She's been doing well, and she's gotten a hell of a lot more control over her abilities since you were last here, Steve. Clint's still being Clint, but he's been liaising with Strike Echo whenever they need the extra firepower.”

“And James?” he asked. It was mostly because he wanted to keep a semblance of distance between this reality's Bucky and his Bucky that he referred to Captain James Barnes as 'James'.

James reminded him too much of what Bucky had been – cocky, brash, and flirty with almost every single SHIELD agent. By referring and calling him 'James', it gave Steve a verbal barrier to not fall back and expect James to be his substitute Bucky. It helped that the intelligence officer had neither commented nor asked him to be addressed with a different name in all the times he had used it.

“He's the one who called Agent Romanov here for this mission,” she stated, glancing over towards Natasha while tilting her head ever so slightly. “The rest of us are support for his op.”

Steve glanced over at Natasha, catching her slightly puzzled expression as they climbed into the elevator that would bring them up to the entrance of the silo. “He was undercover?”

“Still is,” she answered in a crisp, no-nonsense tone. “He broke his deep cover assignment just enough to return to outline a briefing for Director Carter before going back.”

“Old habits die hard,” he heard Natasha murmur.

“Nat--” he began, not liking the implications that went with that comment.

“No, she's right, Steve,” his counterpart surprisingly stated, as he glanced over at her. “Bucky... he's always been a risk taker. He's always been the better chameleon than anyone else in SHIELD. Director Carter specifically assigned him to this mission, and I trust that he will not turn. He didn't in the Framework, and he won't now.”

“Your faith in him is reassuring, Captain Rogers,” Natasha stated in a sincere tone. “Thank you.” She paused for a moment before saying, “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about what happened to Tony Stark.”

“Your apology is accepted, but not needed, Agent Romanov,” his counterpart answered. “But I appreciate your sentiment.”

Even with the words stated as neutrally and diplomatically as possible, Steve had a sudden feeling that he was a physical barrier of sorts between the two. It was something he found slightly disconcerting as he initially thought that his being here with Natasha would help emphasize the fact that Natasha was not this reality's Black Widow, no matter how much she looked like her. If he had to be the shield, physical or not, to keep the peace between his two friends and allies, then he would do so until they returned. It was the least he could do to help on this mission.

They exited the silo and into the cold Siberian winter. The walk up to the waiting quinjet was short enough that Steve didn't have time to feel overly cold. Two familiar faces greeted them in the cargo hold, as Stevie hit the button to close the ramp. “Barton. Daisy,” he greeted warmly as his counterpart strode past him and into the cockpit to get the quinjet up into the air.

“Rogers,” this reality's Clint Barton, looking exactly the same as his reality's Clint Barton, greeted, clasping his forearm and giving him a back-slapping hug. “I like the beard.”

“Steve,” Daisy greeted as well, opting for a fist bump instead of a handshake or hug. “Agent Romanov,” she turned to greet Natasha as a familiar flip-flop sensation indicated that the quinjet was lifting off.

“Agent Johnson,” Natasha said, nodding and shaking Daisy's hand. As soon as she let go, Steve saw her turn her attention to Clint, her hands moving rapidly as she silently mouthed a couple of words. It took him a moment to realize that she had spoken in ASL, as he was not entirely familiar with it.

He saw Clint's eyes widened ever so slightly before a genuinely wide and happy smile split his lips. He signed something back at Natasha before verbally saying, “You're my new favorite person, Agent Romanov. If you were my type, I'd marry you in a heartbeat. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for that.”

“Um...” Daisy began, looking a little confused.

“ASL, Daisy,” Clint explained, turning slightly towards her. “American Sign Language. Very few people know that I'm almost completely deaf. Even fewer can tell just by looking at me without me letting them know.” At her crestfallen look, Steve saw Clint shake his head in slight amusement, brushing her expression off with a casual, “Don't worry Daisy. I have hearing aids. I don't like advertising it anyways. Makes all sort of shit awkward.”

“Our reality Clint Barton was the same,” Natasha spoke up, nodding. “His wife and I were the only ones who knew, and he preferred it that way. Like he also said: it made a lot of things awkward if he felt he advertised it.”

“Ooooh, I have a wife in the other reality!” Clint exclaimed, curious. “Do I have kids too?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered, amused. “Bachelor's life for you in this? Clint sometimes lamented about that until his kids and the dog came along.”

Steve couldn't help but give Daisy an amused look at the banter the two were engaged in. He knew that in his reality, Natasha and Clint shared a closeness that could almost be comparable to the brother-sister bond he shared with her. He was also aware that out of every person on the Avengers, Clint was the only one who did not have super-human abilities. Natasha – he didn't know what caused her to not look older than her thirties, considering she clearly looked like a young woman in 1984, and he didn't care. He just knew that she was incredibly comfortable working with Clint, and thus had usually assigned her to be battle buddies with the archer during battles.

“Dead fiance. Got revenge. Enjoying the single life right now,” he answered, a slightly tight smile on his face. It was gone a moment later as the door between the cockpit and cargo hold swished open, and Stevie entered.

“We're on our way,” she announced. “ETA 18:30 local. Daisy, patch us through to Director Carter. Clint, set level seven shielding.”

“Copy,” the two answered crisply.

The set up and com line patch to Director Carter did not take long. As the lights within the interior of the quinjet plunged to a red hue, a holographic representation of what looked like New York City was projected up from the center of the cargo floor. Steve took a step around so that he had a better view from the East River side, but it really didn't matter as the holographic projection began to slowly rotate.

“Director Carter,” Stevie greeted. “Agent Romanov has been retrieved and we are on our way to the drop site. ETA 18:30 local.”

“Copy,” Peggy answered, her voice tinny due to the layers upon layers of encryption. “I see that your counterpart crossed as well. Hello, Captain Rogers.”

“Director Carter,” he greeted in a solemn tone, forcing himself to stare at the holographic projection of her. She was not the Peggy he knew, yet her face in this reality's time frame was almost exactly as he remembered Peggy back in 1984. It hurt, but he had to put that hurt aside – this Peggy was not the one he had wronged to protect both her and Bucky from killing each other.

“I apologize for my crossing without permission. If you have need of me elsewhere to run interference or distraction and draw attention away from this mission, I'd be happy to be of service.”

“That is a generous offer, Captain,” Peggy said, “but not needed at the moment. You're go for conditional participation, as I believe that a 'getaway' pilot is still needed.”

“A heist?” he couldn't help but ask, looking at the others in surprise.

“A heist of the highest order,” his counterpart answered, the smile she had on her face that of confidence and anticipation. “The Tesseract is up for auction on the black market. SHIELD intends to steal it before what's left of HYDRA or their allies can get to it.”

He blinked, staring at them half in disbelief, half in awe. In all of the short years that he had worked for Fury, stealing secrets to protect the world was not under his purview or skill set. That was something he could reasonably assume was left to Natasha. Now, SHIELD was going to attempt a multi-person heist on an artifact that was dangerous and as it was powerful.

“The gala-auction where this Tesseract and other items are being sold is part power play, part show of whose-who in the world,” Stevie began, zooming into mid-town Manhattan. “Intel collected indicates that the power vacuum that Madam Hydra's death was large enough to fracture apart the various alliances that she had put together. Now, we got warlords and CEOs of various companies scrambling to consolidate their power base.”

Steve saw a flurry of company logos, along with different ones that most likely indicated militia groups or otherwise, including HYDRA, appear on the projection. “These are all of the major players. Dossiers for those in attendance have been uploaded from our databases, along with intel collected for the past few months. We will be attending this gala, so it's formal dressage for everyone on the ground. Bucky will have the details on our assignments when we get there, but suffice to say – all in attendance were not aware that the Black Widow was killed in Siberia.”

Her attention was turned to Natasha as Steve heard her say, “That's where you come in, Agent Romanov. The dossier on your counterpart here has also been uploaded. Both you and Bucky will be going into the gala as HYDRA agents.”

Steve frowned slightly. There was nothing in his counterpart's tone except for complete professionalism, but the proposed route for the mission sounded a little risky – even for what he had done in World War Two. This was hinging on the fact that _no one_ at that gala knew that this reality's Natasha Romanov was dead. Considering the outcome of the Siberian silo battle over a year ago, he wasn't confident that a HYDRA soldier who may have escaped the battlefield would have not spread word about the Black Widow's death. At least that was how he saw it since the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA through the deliberate leak of information on the internet.

But he also had no reason to doubt the intelligence gathered by James. Stevie had every confidence in him, and even Director Carter did as well. His counterpart and James were trained intelligence officers of the highest calibre. They had some different skills that he had never learned or developed. This was the shadow war that SHIELD fought, and he knew that it could have easily happened in his reality. His counterpart, James, and Peggy were the Nick Fury super-spy, of this reality.

Steve pulled himself out of his thoughts as the logos were wiped away, and the map zoomed out. “Our LZ is here,” Stevie said, gesturing to the Park Central Hotel on West 56th and 7th avenue. “It's not ideal, but there is a holographic projection to mask the area. We'll meet Bucky there, and he'll bring us to HQ. Any questions?”

“Weapons?” Clint asked.

“Small arms, nothing standard-issued SHIELD,” Stevie answered. “Anticipate CQC if a fight breaks out. Everyone will be packing heat though – either visibly or concealed.”

“Copy,” Clint answered, nodding.

“Are we going in with natural faces or photo-static veils?” Daisy asked.

“Intel suggests that there will be scanners in random places at the gala, and that these were designed to detect photo-static veils. We don't have the means or time to crack and scramble them. We'll dye or add prosthetic and makeup for disguise.” Stevie paused for a moment before asking, “Any other questions?”

Steve had some, but they were more for James than anyone else present at the briefing. No one else had questions, but it went unsaid: they all had a lot of reading to do – Natasha especially. He glanced over towards Natasha, but she was studying the map with an intensity that warranted him not bothering her.

“Good hunting Strike Alpha,” Peggy stated before the line was disconnected. The interior lighting of the quinjet was set back to normal, as the holographic projection remained up for them to peruse.

“Yay, reading,” Daisy stated in a semi-sarcastic tone as she accepted one of the small datapads that Clint had handed her.

“Know your enemy, Quake,” Clint stated, doing the same for both Steve and Natasha.

Steve accepted his and turned it on, noting just how much material had been gathered. Even though his actual role had not been defined in this short briefing, he knew that it was necessary for him to read up on who was attending. If he did end up being the 'getaway' pilot, he needed to know which of those in attendance had the possible skills to fly after him, or shoot him out of the sky.

He sat down at the nearest jump seat as the others did as well. Scrolling through the list to begin memorizing the names of those in attendance, it was only when his counterpart turned and returned to the cockpit, her own datapad in hand, that he frowned slightly. He knew that it was going to be difficult for her to sit in the same area as Natasha, and didn't blame her for going into the cockpit.

Yet, throughout the briefing, she seemed a little more on edge than he had seen her before, even though he had seen her try to conceal it with her short, concise words. It didn't seem like Natasha was the cause of that. Getting up, he took his datapad with him and made his way to the cockpit. Politely knocking on the door that separated the cockpit from cargo hold, it swished open a moment later and he stepped in.

“Is everything all right?” he asked as soon as the door swished closed.

He took a seat in the copilot's chair. His counterpart was sitting in the pilot's chair, not reading the datapad, but had the faces and images of at least a dozen or so of the attendees projected onto the cockpit's window. “Can't hide it from you, can I?” she asked, turning slightly in her seat as she glanced over at him.

“I know me like I know myself?” he said in a facetious tone, hoping that it would help relax whatever was keeping her on edge.

She laughed a little before her expression became serious again, as she said, “I'm just worried about what Director Carter is going to do once we get the Tesseract. I mean, HYDRA already harnessed weapons from it. Given what I remember of Tony's ramblings, it could be a source of unlimited energy. I don't know if SHIELD is going to be benign with this.”

“I had the same doubts,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Take this as a lesson from my reality's SHIELD to yours: when Howard Stark fished the Tesseract out of the Atlantic, it took SHIELD scientists at least seventy years to begin to develop weapons based off of it. Director Fury called it 'Phase 2', in response to Thor's arrival on Earth – the development of weapons to combat alien threats. Even the removal of the Tesseract didn't stop HYDRA from developing weapons that could devastate scores of people.”

“So you're saying that this mission is a bust, even if we get the Tesseract?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “What it will be, is what you need to consistently remind Director Carter of. I questioned Fury at every single turn. He provided rationale, and he also sometimes stopped projects from being developed after my questionings. If we get this Tesseract, it'll be a boon to making sure HYDRA and their allies don't develop any further weapons. However, it becomes a heavy responsibility for SHIELD to make sure that it does not fall into the wrong hands. It's an alien weapon, and it's also a doorway to the universe.”

“Which no one thankfully, has unlocked yet,” she finished up, nodding. “The world is not ready for an interstellar war, or invasion.”

“If the Chitauri come knocking on your door, you can call me,” he said, smiling slightly. “I got experience in fighting them.”

“Same if HYDRA decides to rear their ugly head again.”

He gestured to the photos on the window, asking, “Any of them look familiar?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But considering their rap sheets, I'm just amazed that Bucky managed to collect all of this information _and_ get it out without getting caught.”

“How long has he been in deep cover?” he asked.

“For a while,” came the succinct answer, before she reached towards the photos and replaced them with another set of images.

He knew then that he had hit a nerve. It was not one that would make her angry, but one that made her worried. It was not the same worry she had for the Tesseract and SHIELD's usage, but a personal one. It was the same kind of worry he had for Bucky that was only alleviated whenever he told himself that to not contact Wakanda was to protect him. He looked away, focusing his eyes on the sun-setting horizon as a quiet filled the cockpit.

“How are you and James?” he asked after a few moments, wondering if this was the right way to go about asking his question.

“Looking for relationship advice, Steve?” she asked, as he caught her glancing over at him with a faint smile on her lips.

He couldn't help but laugh a little. “Yes and no,” he admitted. “I got the sense from when James crossed over to my reality that you guys patched things up?”

“You need to contact Wakanda first to see if they've made progress on removing those commands, if you want to move forward with Bucky, Steve,” she said, leaning back slightly in her chair as she turned slightly so that she was facing him. “I know you don't want to draw attention to him being there, but from what I've seen from the guards on your side of the portal, they're really good at protecting one of their own. The King of Wakanda extended an offer of shelter, and I think that proves that they're serious about protecting Bucky.”

She leaned over and unexpectedly placed a hand on his forearm, saying, “You shouldn't try to live your life through me, Steve. You need to make your relationship with your Bucky your own. Mine with my Bucky is already complicated enough that I can't give you any solid advice.”

She leaned back removing her hand and also removed the gloves from her fingers. She wiggled them in the air, saying, “No more ring, but that doesn't mean I've completely moved on from Tony's death, Steve.”

He nodded, as she fell silent and slipped her gloves back on. There was no need for her to continue to explain that there had been ups and downs in her relationship with her reality's Bucky since he had last seen her. This deep cover assignment was not helping their relationship at all, and in a strange sense, Steve could see yet another parallel being drawn between them.

“How's Caroline?” he asked instead.

Stevie's daughter was a conundrum to him. On one hand he saw the underlying warning to himself that if he ever chose to have children, he would put whoever carried his child in danger. Not to mention that his child would never have a quality life, since the super-soldier serum would be swimming in that child's blood, as it swam in Caroline's blood.

On the other hand, he knew that his reality was more relatively peaceful than this world. Little Caroline was separated from her mother constantly, being raised in the halls of SHIELD. It was similar to what Sharon had told him of her days growing up in the shadow of her aunt, Peggy. His counterpart did not see her daughter often, and Steve knew that if he ever had children, he would not want them to grow up without him there.

“She's rail thin, lanky, and starting to grow into puberty,” she answered, turning to briefly stare out of the cockpit. “At least that's what Lincoln said yesterday. I've given Director Carter authorization to initiate contact with your Wakanda directly to see if there's anything they can do to stop the super-soldier serum from consuming her. Lincoln thinks that because Caroline just hit puberty, there might still be a better chance to stop any sort of mutation that might happen at this stage. He thinks that if the serum can be controlled to not mutate, then it might finally stop after she reaches adulthood.”

“Wakanda's tech can't be compared to,” he said, nodding. “She'll be in good hands, Stevie.”

“I know,” his counterpart answered, returning her attention to him. “I have faith that they'll know how to handle a hormonal teenager like my daughter. I wasn't much different than she was at that age anyways – all giraffe legs and no coordination.”

Steve couldn't help but bark in laughter at her lighthearted quip to lessen her underlying worry about her daughter. “Apparently, I got thinner than I had been when puberty hit me. Mom was the only one who was not panicking, since her training as a nurse gave her the necessary knowledge to make sure that I wasn't suffering from anything else that I wasn't already suffering from.”

“Alas, I'm going to assume that we both had gotten the short end of the stick when puberty was done with us,” she said.

“Yeah,” said, as he couldn't help but wistfully smile at the memories that briefly surfaced. “I was actually jealous of Bucky. It feels weird to say that out loud.”

“I was both glad, and a little exasperated,” she admitted, grinning. “Harpies descended on him like they've never seen a guy before. He's lucky that I had the heart to help him pass his classes in high school, considering how much he slacked off in his last year.”

Steve chuckled. “That happened in my reality as well. Except not the classes. The dames—women—ladies—gah.”

“Still working on that twenty-first century vocabulary, Steve?” she teased.

“Yeah,” he answered, shaking his head. “Still working on it. I was never good at talking to women.”

“I'll say that I'm an exception to that,” she said, tilting her head ever so slightly. “And Agent Romanov may be one as well. After he returned here, my Bucky told me that you seem to work quite well with her.”

“We do work well together. I trust her with my life,” he answered, nodding in agreement. “She's not your reality's Black Widow, but are you going to have a problem with her?”

“No,” she simply answered, giving him an open and honest look. “I know when to swallow the tough pill, Steve. You don't have to protect her from me. She was specifically requested for this mission, so I'll trust that judgment.”

“All right,” he said. While he did not think the upcoming mission would turn into anything like the 0-8-4 that sent them back in time, this was an indirect attack on HYDRA. It was also on US soil, and in this reality's late 1980's. He knew that he was bound to see some similarities.

“Did James tell you what happened when we were transported to 1984?” he asked.

“Some, but not all,” she said, pausing for a moment. “I'm sorry you had to go through that, Steve.”

“I wanted... I _had_ to protect both of them, Stevie,” he said. “I just... I just didn't think that I'd ever had to make a choice like that. I don't blame Peggy for what she did in not telling me who the Winter Soldier was after I woke up from ice. Nor do I blame Bucky for carrying out his orders – he was not in control of his actions back then.”

“Good,” she agreed. “But life never gives us what we want, doesn't it?”

“Life doesn't discriminate at all,” he said, nodding in agreement.

“Focus on the mission for now, Steve,” she advised. “Let that at least help take you mind off from whatever is happening in your reality. It'll be dangerous, but considering what we're all walking into, it'll be the dangerous kind of fun.”

He couldn't help but smile at her optimism, knowing that it would have been something that he would eventually have come to terms himself. She was just a little quicker about it than he was at the moment. She was right, as was Sam and the others – his focus lately had been all over the place. While he was grateful that his friends had put up with him for the past months, he owed it to them to apologize for his behavior when he returned.

“You, in an evening gown, again,” he said. “Clint made a brief complaint about some mission with you in a gown, the last time we had to wear the formal clothing.”

“I can't run or move in an evening gown, Rogers,” she stated, raising an eyebrow. “How the hell am I supposed to fight, when – not if – when a fight breaks out?”

“Use your heels?” he suggested. “That's what Daisy decided to do when she knew that her earthquake powers were going to shatter her bones.”

“How uncivilized,” she huffed, but Steve could hear the sarcasm in her tone and grinned.

“With where we're going, I'd call this gathering the armpit of civilization,” he quipped.

“I suppose that we'll have to sanitize it properly once we get the artifact,” she answered.

“Agreed,” he said, feeling a lot less empty and hesitant than he initially had been.

It was good to be back, good to just talk to his counterpart, as their experiences while similar in some aspects, were vastly different in others. She, the military intelligence officer, put many things that he saw in a slightly different light, and he found that he missed that perspective.

Both Sam and James had as well, but their perspectives were not in the context of what he, and his counterpart to an extent, had gone through in life. He didn't dismiss their perspectives, but there were times when just talking to a mirror of himself brought him some answers. Natasha provided a wholly different perspective, but she was a spy, not a soldier.

Right now, there was a mission he could focus on – something that would hopefully help a world become a better place – and he was glad he was here.

* * *

_Reality: Avengers Earth (MCU)_

_Wakanda_

 

“It looks like the scars have healed and formed nicely around the implant,” Bucky heard Shuri murmur as he continued to look around at the wondrous amount of gadgets in this laboratory. He did manage to tamp down on the extremely childish impulse to poke at every single thing he saw, to see what it was and how it worked.

While the laboratory was not the primary one that he knew she used, and that he had initially woken up in, this particular one was the one nearest to where he lived. It was off the beaten path, a place to store various prototypes that she and her teams have had neither the time to develop to fruition, or completed testing yet.

“Any pain if I do this?” she asked, as he glanced down to see her poke her right index finger rather hard and straight into the center of the implant at the end of his stump.

“No,” he answered, but couldn't help but frown. “All I feel is pressure from your finger. Are you supposed to poke it that hard?”

“It's a vibranium alloy mix, Bucky,” she said, stepping back. “It can take that and a lot more for impact. It's helping mitigate the pain and feeling that your brain sends.”

“It's working,” he said, looking over towards her. “I haven't felt anything remotely related to a burning sensation at the stump for the past few months. The tasks you taught me to do are helping as well. Repetition sometimes even causes me to forget that I don't have two arms.”

“Good,” she said, looking quite pleased. “Now,” she said, clapping her hands together as she stepped back, “before I send you on your way, your therapist told me that you've been intermittently not sleeping well. He asked me if there was anything I could do to help you during those times, since he doesn't want to recommend to the doctor to prescribe anything drug-related unless absolutely necessary. I'm not going to ask for details, but I do suspect what may be keeping you up. Some of our people, especially those who had served as the eyes and ears of Wakanda in more dangerous locations, have dealt with something similar.”

“I'm going--” she began, turning away and made her way to a table that was stacked full of various crates. The one that he saw her pick up was leaning against the stack, and it was almost as long as some of the sniper rifle cases that he had seen and used before. “To give you this,” she continued, setting the crate down on his right.

She flipped the latches on the casing open, revealing the content. Bucky frowned as he looked at the gleaming blue-silver-hued arm sitting in the casing. He looked back up at her as she said, “You don't have to accept or take it, Bucky. But it is there, if you need it.”

There was sympathy in the tone of her voice, and he glanced back down again at the arm. The workmanship was indicative of Shuri alone, as he had seen a few other things she had designed before. It was practical, and he could only assume that it functioned as an arm usually functioned. He knew that she had some input into the design of the cannon-arm that had been stolen by Ulysses Klaue, but she had not been the primary designer of that arm. A few of his distant neighbors in the area where he lived had told him of the arguments that they had heard Shuri have with several of the more weapons-minded researchers and designers.

That was what he felt made her different from both Howard and Anthony Stark. She was well aware that her creations could and had been used before to hurt people – had almost been used to conquer the world right after Zemo had succeeded in dissolving the Avengers. She guarded her creations fiercely, but she mitigated the damage from her creations whenever she could. She was not reckless in exposing or spreading Wakanda's technology whenever she visited and helped at the various Outreach centers.

Of course, that was all that Bucky knew of what she had done via information coming from television coverage or the internet. He knew where dangerous technology was when he saw it, and that was also why he always quashed his curiosity to poke objects in Shuri's laboratories. She had helped him get better, and in turn, he knew that he would eventually have to repay that debt through service. At the moment though, it did not seem like she, nor Wakanda was collecting on that debt. It seemed as if she still was trying to help him settle his demons and fears.

“I--” he began, looking back up. “Why?”

“Many of our agents live between Wakanda and another country's culture. While we don't doubt their loyalty, there are times where they miss the simplicity and comforts of home. Sometimes, a piece of technology that cannot be found elsewhere to ease their living condition, or even a delivery of food that they had not had in a long time goes a long way,” she explained.

She gestured to his stump, saying, “The memories you have associated with your metal arm may be unpleasant, but they are a part of you. You are making progress in living life without a second arm, but I hope that this prosthetic arm will only help you alleviate your insomnia whenever you need it.”

“Do you want me to use it for working conditions?” he asked.

“It's your choice, Bucky,” she stated. “You can leave the arm here if you want, but it will always be here if you need it.”

He glanced back at the arm. He didn't know if it was a crutch or not. Even as the analytical side of his mind thought that it would make the chores and exercises he was doing easier, the other part of him wanted to reject it. Shuri was right, in that the metal arm he had was associated with the Winter Soldier – the monster who no longer had a cage. If he took and used the arm, would he fall back into old patterns, or make it easier to slip into the clutches of the monster?

And yet, this arm was neither silver or branded with the blood red star. He also had to remind himself that the arm he had used in the other reality had neither hindered or helped his memories. It was just there – a metal arm that he used like any other tool – even when he had almost been reset by that reality's Madam Hydra.

Was he just swimming in fear because he couldn't face the confession he had stated into the silence last night?

“--ky. Bucky? Sergeant Barnes?”

He blinked and looked back up, realizing that Shuri was trying to draw his attention. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed that he had fallen into one of his fugues that struck at the most inopportune times.

“Bucky? Would you like me to recommend to your therapist and the doctor that you'd be prescribed medicine, instead?” she gently asked.

He silently shook his head. If there was one thing he absolutely did not want to do, it was to get on a regimen of medication. He did not know how it would make him feel, or how it would react to his super-soldiered body. His transformation into a super-soldier was different than what King T'Challa or Steve had gone through, and it was an unknown that he absolutely did not want to explore.

“I'll take it with me,” he said, even though he knew he had the choice to also leave the arm where it was. “But, I don't think I'm going to need it.”

“I'm glad,” she said, taking a step back and over to close the casing. “And should you not need it, you're welcome to try to take it apart. It will help further your fine-tune control.”

He nodded, taking the casing from her. The silence that answered his confession still rung in his ears, but he knew that if he put the arm back on, he would fight as hard as he could to remain who he was now. This was another step forward towards his recovery and reclamation of his life.

* * *

_Reality: Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA_

_New York City_

 

The dossiers on the various major players and attendees at this black market auction was easy enough to memorize. It was the relationships that Natasha had dug into, utilizing the limited database on the quinjet. While there were still much more data to be had, she felt that it was adequate enough to tie together the various threads that connected these mob bosses, mercenaries, assassins, and others of that world together. Of course, some of her threads were based upon her own knowledge of the more familiar faces, but the majority of them had been easy to extrapolate after reading the initial data.

“Strike Alpha, Agent Romanov, welcome.”

“Bucky,” Steve's counterpart greeted, her tone completely professional. She sounded every inch of Steve when focused on a mission and the results.

“Sir,” Daisy respectfully greeted.

“Hey!” Clint boisterously said in a more relaxed fashion that reminded Natasha of well... her reality's Clint. It did briefly make her wonder if every Clint Barton in any reality was laid back and lax about the chain of command. “Nice uniform.”

“Captain Barnes,” she greeted, faintly smiling as she saw this reality's James Barnes waiting with his arms clasped behind his back, dressed in a familiar-looking uniform.

The uniform looked quite reminiscent of what she remembered seeing the World War Two uniform of Sergeant James Barnes, displayed in the Smithsonian. While there were some differences in this reality's uniform and the one on display, she could see why some biographies about the Howling Commandos always said that Barnes was the handsomest in the group. He wore the uniform well.

“Steve, didn't expect to see you here,” Barnes said, as Natasha saw him look beyond the team to see Steve in the rear of the group. The quinjet's ramp closed and melted the aircraft back into its cloaking module. The air above them still shimmered with the holographic projection protecting their location.

“Taking a vacation, James,” she heard him casually state, before taking on a tone similar to his counterpart. “Director Carter says you're in need of a getaway pilot. I'm your man.”

“Eh, no need. I've got the perfect slot for you, if you want in on the action on the ground,” Barnes said, as the group made their way to what looked like a rooftop elevator. It was big enough to fit all of them, as Barnes stated, “The elevator has been swept for bugs this go around.”

Natasha deliberately situated herself in the corner, just so she could watch Steve's reaction to the offer to join the operation. She saw her friend glance over at his counterpart, who had a mild but amused look on her face. It went without saying that Steve was not keen to be dressing up in a formal manner again. She remembered the times where she had caught a halfhearted complaint or two from Steve about some fancy function that Fury was ordering Steve to attend as Captain America. She glanced over towards Barnes, but nothing on the agent's face gave away his thoughts other than an anticipated agreement from Steve.

“Okay, fine,” Steve said at last, as the elevator stopped and deposited them on a floor with one lone door.

Said door was double-locked, with a alpha-numeric keypad and retina scanner. It took only a few seconds to open it. After they entered and the door was closed again, a hum swept up and over them. SHIELD, or at least Barnes was taking no chances for anyone to eavesdrop or ambush them. The last time Natasha had encountered such a heavy defense system was when Fury had her test out the security systems in one of his secret bunkers.

“First room on the left, is yours, Daisy. You'll find your outfit and disguise there.” Barnes said, gesturing to the partitioned off wall that served as a room. “Clint, yours is opposite of hers. Stevie, yours is down one from Daisy's room. Romanov, yours is opposite of hers. Steve, you can find your outfit at the last room down the hall. Don't shave the beard. We'll brief and go over the necessary details once you're all dressed. Op goes live in three hours.”

Acknowledgments rang out. While normally a briefing would be conducted before the team would change into disguises, the fact that Barnes was having them dress first told Natasha that he wanted the team to be comfortable wearing their disguises before the op began. It spoke of the professionalism he had, along with his experience to not send agents out immediately after they had put on disguises. Natasha had seen too many operations go bottoms up because an agent had issues with a disguise that would have been worked out, had said agent not been deployed almost immediately.

She stayed behind for a moment as the others left, approaching the agent who was situating himself at the plain metal table with a small holographic projector. “Captain,” she said.

“Romanov,” he answered, looking up at her with a smile. “Thanks for agreeing to do this.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” she answered, tilting her head slightly. “But, I have to say: you _knew_ Steve was coming, didn't you? You had an outfit ready for him, otherwise you wouldn't be dismissive of Director Carter's suggestion.”

“Knew, no,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Guessed, yeah.”

She could ask how he had guessed correctly, but that was a shallow question for her to ask, and definitely unbecoming of her own reputation. She already had an idea as to how he had guessed that Steve would accompany her to this reality, and it need not be stated out loud. Instead, she leaned forward ever so slightly, putting a purring edge to her tone, as she said, “Eyes on the prize, Widowmaker.”

A smile, slightly dangerous but definitely confident, answered her challenge. “Spoken like the true Black Widow of this reality,” she heard him murmur. The change between SHIELD agent and undercover HYDRA agent was instantaneous, as he continued to say, “My eyes are always on the prize, Black Widow.”

“Then let's go get that Tesseract.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	3. Memory: безразличие

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**безразличие** _

_Year:_ _1939, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Night, no additional fragments_

_Location: New York City, no additional fragments_

 

If it could be called an art, Bucky certainly wasn't an artist as he watched the brute of a bully crash into the ground. His knuckles were pulsating in pain but thankfully were not split. Bruises covered his arms and sides where he had managed to block the kicks and punches, and he could feel some blood dribbling down his lips where he had bit the inside of his cheek.

Blood and spittle splattered a few inches away from his feet, but he didn't care – he was not in much danger of being attacked again. He could see the whites of his opponent's eyes as the bully's eyes rolled up. Kicking the sweat and blood-soaked ground with his shoes that caused a tiny puff of dirt and debris to float up and spray into his opponent. He shook his head in disdain before looking back up.

His vision was a little blurry, but he was confident that he wouldn't pass out on his way home. “Anyone else?” he challenged, glaring at the other four who had stood in a semi-half circle around him and the brute.

“Naw,” one of the brute's friends said, fear evident in his tone before Bucky saw him gesture for two of his friends to pick up their leader. “W-We're s-sorry.”

He continued to glare at them, as they back-pedaled, dragging their unconscious leader with them. Even when they turned the corner and continued to scuff their shoes on the street, he remained where he was. His breaths were becoming calmer, his rage cooling down, but his irritation was not going anywhere tonight. As much as he really didn't care whether or not the bully he had just beat up lived, died, or suffered broken bones as a result of fighting him, he was not glad that this night had turned into a protracted fight against them.

It was only after he couldn't hear the sounds of the gang anymore that he finally turned and began walking back down the alleyway. Emerging out into the main street, he turned left and made his way down, keeping his eyes to the ground, but ears alert. It was very late at night and usually, the only people out and about were either drunkards, the police, or both. He was neither, and he was not keen on being arrested for the appearance of disorderly conduct.

A few turns down streets and alleyways later, he finally got to his destination. He looked around, spotting no one in sight, and glanced up at the building. It was not home, but rather a detour that he usually took whenever something like this happened. If there was one thing he wanted to make sure he never did, it was to go home to the apartment he shared with Steve looking like he had been run over by a car.

Not only would it cause Steve to become angry and demand who he had fought, Bucky didn't want Steve to know about these 'secret' fights he had. He settled Steve's accounts through underground boxing matches – to which all he required was that the offender apologize to Steve, if Bucky won the match. Some of the bullying and insult accounts though, weren't settled via the matches – they were fought in the alleyways as he had done so tonight.

Taking another quick glance around, there was still no one around. With a quick run up and leap, he clung onto the pipe and ledge, and began to climb up. His muscles pulled and twinged with sharp stabs of pain that rippled up and down his body as he climbed up. Yet, he did not slow down or stop. When he reached the third floor, he carefully hung himself off the ledge, suppressing the involuntary hiss of pain that tried to escape his lips. He softly tapped the window directly below him with the tips of his shoes.

It didn't take long for a young woman to turn on a small dim light, open the window, and poke her head out. Bucky saw her look up, glaring at him before shaking her head in exasperation. She slid her head back into her room, but opened the window a little further. Bucky took it as a positive sign and carefully climbed down from where he was hanging, before quietly climbing in.

As soon as he gently closed the window, his sister wasted no time and hissed, “Bucky! You _know_ you can't be here! I said I'd only help you those two times, not every time you got into a fight!”

“I was careful, Becca,” he answered, keeping his voice low as he held up his hands, trying to placate the oldest of his sisters, whom was two years younger than him. “The Matron is asleep and I couldn't hear any noise from your neighbors. I promise, I'll be gone in a jiffy. I just need you to do some make up on me, and cover some of the bruises.”

“Bucky...” his sister began, looking exasperated yet resigned at the same time. She shook her head again before saying, “Sit. I'll get you an ice pack. Can't be putting blush on bruises that are fresh. Otherwise the coloring will be off.”

He obeyed her, and watched as she gathered her robe and slippers before leaving the room. Left alone for the moment, he looked around, noting that there were a couple of new knickknacks she had picked up and decorated her apartment since he had last snuck in here.

While she still worked in the same factories as their mother and sisters, her duties as a secretary to one of the assembly line bosses had ultimately required her to move to be closer to the factory. Her boss had required her to report quite early almost every day. Thus now, she lived in a rather nice apartment building that was restricted to women only. His being here, even as her brother, was forbidden without prior permission.

The door opened again and he glanced up to see her enter, shutting the door tightly behind her before locking it. There was a bundled cloth in her hands, and the sounds of ice crackling together as she went over to him and handed him it. He nodded his thanks and placed it over his face as he saw her shake her head again and return to the corner of the room where she kept her make up.

“So what was said this time, Bucky?” she quietly asked him after she returned and began to set out the various items she needed.

Bucky transferred the ice pack to his left hand, feeling the cold numbness on his face begin to fade back to slight pain. “Had a double-date with Victoria and Maggie earlier tonight,” he began as his sister brought the dim lamp closer to them. “I had high hopes that maybe, just maybe Maggie would be different enough to not treat Steve like dirt. I even managed to get that punk to clean up more than he usually does.”

“As we were going to meet the girls, the assholes that I told you a few weeks ago come 'round the bend,” he continued, trying not to wince as his sister dabbed and cleaned the area on his face where he had not managed to completely block the punch. “They saw us squeaky-clean, Steve looking better than usual, and called Steve a 'pansy'. And me... well, let's just say that Mother would be dropping the plates if she heard what was said.”

His sister did not say a word, but Bucky could see a frustrated look in her eyes. “I dragged him away from that without incident, Becca. But the mood was ruined. Steve wasn't good company with the girls, even though I tried to play it off with some excuses.”

“Did you win?” she asked after a long moment of silence, removing the ice pack from his hand and placing it on the top of his head like a crown.

“Would I be here if I didn't?” he cheekily retorted.

She was silent, and he saw her thin her lips as she cleaned up his hands before silently applying some dark rouge from her lipstick to his knuckles before blending it with the facial powder. “Are you going to date Victoria again?” she asked after a few minutes.

“I don't know,” he admitted, shrugging slightly. “She's pretty and nice, but what happened earlier tonight isn't giving me a good gauge on her. Sadly, Maggie seemed indifferent to Steve. I had high hopes for her...”

“Bucky... how long are you going to keep doing this?” she quietly asked, sitting back and placing her hands down on her lap. She had not completed the application and covering of his bruises, but he could see a seriousness in her eyes.

“As long as I need to,” he answered her in an even tone. “You can blame Father for everything, Becca. He's the one who tried to beat it out of me, and he's the one who taught me how to hide and survive.”

“He's dead, Bucky,” she stated. “You shouldn't have to fear--”

“Yeah, he's dead,” he agreed, interrupting her before she could finish her thought. “I don't care what he thinks anymore, just like I don't care if the world sees me as a serial womanizer. Better that than getting murdered because—” he fell silent. There was no need for him to justify his rationale to her – she already knew without him ever telling her, and had never judged him like their father had.

“I like it, and I've accepted it, Becca. Going on double dates makes Steve happy. End of story,” he finished up.

“I just want _you_ to be happy, Bucky,” she said, shaking her head and picking up his bruised right hand.

“I am happy,” he stated. “I might be apathetic to everything else, but so long as Steve is protected, is happy, and living _his_ life to the fullest, I am satisfied.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**безразличие** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	4. незапятнанный (Unblemished, re: Rusted)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot off the press. Apologies for any grammatical or spelling mistakes in this chapter.

 

**Chapter 2: незапятнанный (Unblemished, re: Rusted)**

_Reality: Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA Earth_

_New York City_

 

“ _Stop tugging on your collar, Steve. You look fine.”_

Steve blinked and glanced over towards Daisy, wondering why of all places and voices he could imagine at this very moment, Bucky's was the one he was hearing. It certainly was not a reassuring tone, as he remembered the memory associated with it: containing the rather annoyed tone of Bucky. It had been his first date – double-date, really – with a friend of the girl that Bucky was going on a date with. He remembered clearly that he had been a nervous wreck, hoping to impress Dolores's friend, which was where Bucky's annoyed tone to tell him to stop fidgeting and adjusting his clothes came in.

“Ready?” he heard Daisy murmur as he returned his gaze forward and carefully ascended the steps.

His role in this entire gala was a 'shepherd' to Daisy's debutante – that was, merely an escort-bodyguard for her, rather than a boyfriend or business associate. It meant that he would not be allowed to socially drink, and did not have to interact with those in attendance on any small talk. It also meant that he was packing heat, both visibly and concealed, and his tailored black tuxedo had been designed specifically for that.

He had not really known what to make of the fact that James had taken his last performance in a tuxedo at such a function into consideration, and incorporated it into this function. Was it because his social skills – no matter how much he had tried to hone it on the USO circuit and at all of the award ceremonies that Fury had had him attend – were not up to par for this mission? Or was it the fact that he felt a certain amount of gratefulness to James that he did not have to play a role he had been uncomfortable with? Neither of his questions had been answered, as there had been higher priority questions he had about the mission.

“After you, Miss Alloran,” he murmured.

Per Daisy's role as a debutante in this gala-auction, she was the daughter of an arms dealer, making her overall debut in the criminal underworld. James had already seeded her 'father's' name within several of the lower-ranking criminals around the world, giving her the authorization to bid for weapons using her 'father's' name. In reality, it was up to the two of them to find a way to steal the Tesseract and replace it with a holographic projection without getting caught.

Stevie and Clint, paired up as they had been in a previous mission that Steve only had briefly heard about, were the ones who were going to case the area where the Tesseract was being stored. Neither looked too pleased with the roles they had been assigned for their covers; a wife-husband pair of middleman information brokers. They were supposed to utilize the information that had been collected about the attendees and blackmail their way to the storage area.

Clint had wanted to utilize the blackmail to spread as much misinformation as possible among the other attendees, while Stevie had wanted to straight up go to the location of the cache and utilize a pinpoint blackmail. Natasha had surprisingly suggested amending it to a role in which they ended up in some embarrassing shouting match and storming off to the bathrooms to cool down. Not only would it destroy their roles' reputations as information brokers, it would cause those they blackmailed to really question the blackmail and begin to doubt their contacts in general. It would also give either him, Steve, or Daisy the perfect excuse to meet up and find out information about the layout of the cache.

Steve was a little surprised that there had been no protest to Natasha's suggestion, and wondered if she had utilized such a thing before in another mission for Fury in their reality. He didn't ask her though, as he knew that it would invite more questions than answers. Natasha kept a lot of secrets, and Steve was fine not knowing a lot of what she had done during her days as a Soviet agent and as Fury's left hand.

The crème-de-la-crème of the heist plan was the fact that Natasha and James were going to divert most of the attention off of the other two pairs. No one was doubting the fact that there would be competition to steal the Tesseract and other weapons, nor the fact that the cache was going to be under heavy guard. It was up to the two to make sure that interests were diverted while the rest of them thwarted the other attempts to steal.

“Lead, I count twenty heavily armed guards up and down the hall leading from the vault to the stage. Each are equipped with gas masks. No go on gassing – we might have to make some noise,” Steve's counterpart stated into the com.

“Burlies are everywhere on the alt-route,” Clint followed up. “Looks like they're all equipped with biometric sensors to detect fight or flight response. Just over heard one of them get berated by another for jacking off in the men's room and unnecessarily elevating his heart rate.”

Had it been any other mission or person who had stated that over the heavily encrypted com line, Steve would have flushed bright red. However, hanging around not only this reality's Clint Barton, along with being exposed to a lot of terrible but sometimes genuinely hilarious jokes and sophomoric humor from Sam, had desensitized him somewhat to what had been stated over the com. He still felt that Clint had definitely given a little too much information on the cause of the heart-rate elevation that was not necessarily needed.

It was not his call though, and Steve focused his attention back on the task at hand, as Daisy's alias was announced to draw attention to her attendance. His alias was not announced, as he was merely a bodyguard. A few of the familiar faces from the dossiers that he had memorized, turned to acknowledge her presence as she gracefully descended into the main hall. Unlike Jiaying's gala, there was no open bar, but there were a lot of waitstaff floating in and about those already arrived.

“Copy, snag,” James's crisp voice came through the com. “Team Two, hold off on rendezvous. Mingle and see if you can sniff out anyone who might have tried to breach the perimeter.”

“Wilco, Lead,” he murmured the acknowledgment, bringing up his left arm where the tiny communicator attached to his cuff link was situated.

He covered for that gesture by reaching into the right side of his jacket and slightly moved the sidearm he carried within the his underarm holster. The gesture was visible to all who saw him and Daisy, but it was a deliberately done gesture to make sure that they knew that he was carrying a sidearm.

A small stage at the far end of the hall, with a few dozen seats available near it, indicated where the auction was to take place once the house determined it was time to start. The hall itself was a single floor, but there were beams of rafters crisscrossing the ceiling, allowing for the décor to settle. It was also where most, if not all of the security cameras and sensors to detect any violations of the rules for the gala, were installed. Rather than a rat's nest of wires as he had half-expected, each intersection of beams had what looked like a self-contained module of camera and sensor.

Daisy moved forward and made her way to the predetermined location that had been agreed upon by the team, in the event of a snag. Her evening gown was a stunningly gorgeous blue-silver-hued, off-the-shoulder gown that was fitted to her body – similar to the bright red gown she had worn at Jiaying's gala. She had no visible weapons on her, but he knew that she had a small Walther strapped above her right knee. That was only a backup weapon, as it was his job to shield her and shoot any attackers. She was not supposed to use her powers, but if push became shove, he knew that she would.

Using the placard that she had been given at the entrance, which she had given to him in a slightly dismissive gesture, he kept a half-step in front and to her left, parting the crowds. Whenever she slowed down to engage in some small talk with someone on her 'father's' client list, Steve stood beside her. His hands were folded before him, but his eyes were constantly looking around for any signs of danger or suspicion.

That was not the only thing he was looking for, as he saw the occasional black market dealer or crime boss lackey scurry in and out of the two entrances to the rooftop or basement. The auction house guards at those entrances were quite alert, and always stopped someone from exiting or entering. Wands were waved over anyone who passed by them, and visual inspections were undertaken. Even the known and vetted were not exempt from the scrutiny. They would have to be careful in extricating any information from those who may have attempted to case and steal the vault.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the male-half of a doctor pair that Daisy was currently speaking to lean a little more forward than he liked. He shoved his surprise at the fact that a pair of doctors were a part of the criminal world, to the side. Steve immediately took a half-step in, extending his arm out with the placard to prevent the man from leering any more closer than what he was already doing to Daisy.

“Step back, Dr. Faustus,” he stated, remembering to drop all pretense of politeness, as he put some authority into his tone.

“Ah, I apologize for that, Miss Alloran,” Faustus stated, adjusting his glasses perched on his nose, as Steve saw him peer up at him. There was a look in the doctor's eyes that he did not like, as the doctor continued to say, “I meant your ward no harm, bodyguard. She is as fascinating as she is beautiful, if I might say.”

“As fascinating as one would polish a hunting blade, as my father would say?” Daisy asked, adopting a slightly hungry look in her eyes and expression.

“Yes,” Faustus said, trailing off as Steve took a step back and lowered his arm, allowing the doctor his space again. It was not enough as the doctor's attention seemed to now have been turned completely onto him. There was a look in the doctor's eyes that seemed beyond a passing interest, and it sent a chill down Steve's back. He clamped down on his sudden urge to do something to get those terrible eyes away from him.

“But your bodyguard... “ Faustus continued, as the doctor's words words also drew the attention of his partner. “I must also compliment your father on choosing such a fine specimen to accompany you tonight--”

“The price for his services tonight are not within your means, Dr. Faustus,” Daisy stated with an edge to her tone. “However, if you would like to negotiate a deal with my father, I shall let him know.”

“Ah, Miss Alloran--”

“The Black Widow, and her escort, the Widowmaker.”

A sudden hush fell over the entire hall as heads swiveled towards the entrance. Even Steve could not fight the magnetism that seemed to settle in the air with the announcement. Standing resplendent at the entrance were Natasha, dressed in an all-black evening gown, complete with a blood-red pattern along her waist. It made her look exactly like her call sign. Next to her was James, in the uniform that was reminiscent of the uniform that Steve remembered Bucky wearing.

That hush was broken with the first steps that the two took, as a wave of murmurs, disbelief, relief, and even some anger rushed over the crowd. Steve saw more than one HYDRA-associated member move forward, pushing past other guests to reach the edge of the floor. None had weapons on them, and the stance that Natasha and James had as they descended the stairs did not indicate that an attack upon one or both of them were imminent.

“Ah the prodigal daughter and her apprentice finally return,” Faustus stated, looking quite pleased. “Perhaps there may yet be some hope in this chaos that was unleashed with Madam Hydra's untimely death.”

“Perhaps,” Daisy stated, “but then the markets for goods would be regulated again, if the Widow has her way.”

“An ordered chaos, my dear,” Faustus argued. “Were it--”

It seemed that the auction house had been waiting for the last of the guests, namely the Black Widow and the Widowmaker, as a booming voice that carried over the length of the hall said, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please. We shall begin the auction shortly.”

Little by little, the crowd began the move towards the far end of the hall. Faustus and his partner moved away from Daisy and him, but they had their own assignment at the juncture. Moving just slightly slower than the rest of the beautifully dressed people around them, Daisy maneuvered her way through. They had their designated spots both within the ranks of those attending the auction, and in the operation. Though the order to hold had been given, the two of them still situated themselves close to the furthest of the two exits to the basement and rooftop.

James, Stevie, and even Natasha had been confident that all of the auction house's goods were going to be brought up through the stairwell closest to the stage. It didn't mean that the second entrance was going to be less guarded, but it did mean that most of those attending the auction's attention was going to be focused on the first entrance. If the 'go' command was given, both Daisy and he would be able to slip down stairs without too many people wondering why.

As soon as the audience was settled – with those considered major players given seats – introductions were made. It took all of Steve's efforts to not cross his arms in anger, or let a frown appear on his face. He had to keep as neutral, if not still sharp look around, even as those around him were reacting from awe, to glee, to complete indifference. He wondered if his counterpart was having the same kind of trouble as he was, but she and Clint, having 'resolved' their 'marital differences' were on the far side of the hall, and partially obscured by others standing as he and Daisy were.

As for James and Natasha, what what he could see, they looked comfortable and almost downright cozy together and within this den of vipers. How much of their closeness was an act and how much of it was real was a mystery to him. He had seen just how good the two had worked together during the time that the four of them: him, Natasha, Daisy, and James, had been sent back to 1984.

However, rather than focusing on his teammates, Steve returned his focus onto the audience and what was being sold off. The first few objects that the house had brought out were tech stolen or looted from Stark Industries warehouses. As the pieces were sold off, Steve heard nothing over the com, and could see no reaction from his counterpart. The pieces were designed to whet the appetites of the underground, and the black market dealers were gobbling them up. Per Daisy's cover, she had even bidded for one of the items, but was ultimately out-bid by another weapons dealer.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auction house manager said, as the lights in the hall dimmed slightly and a spotlit was shined upon the woman. “We shall now begin...”

“Teams One and Two, get ready for intercept if we're not able to monetarily secure it,” James's quickly whispered order over the com alerted Steve that the parameters had changed ever so slightly. He knew that SHIELD certainly didn't have the funds, and would have never given up such funds, but the intercept meant that they would have to pay attention to whom would outbid the Black Widow.

“The Tesseract,” Steve tuned back into what was being said. “A weapon found by the legendary Red Skull and lost to the ages. It had been found by our archaeologists and recovered. We shall start the bidding at one million.”

“Ten million to buy out, and a demonstration perhaps?” Natasha immediately suggested, causing more than a few prominent players in the criminal world to gasp at such a steep price. Yet, Steve saw a few heads nod in agreement to her suggestion. “After all, this Tesseract was known to be the greatest weapon that the Red Skull found, but had been lost in the most unfortunate of accidents. HYDRA will not claim it rightfully ours unless we are guaranteed its contents and power.”

Steve was baffled at Natasha's suggestion. Though he was not well versed in what exactly the Tesseract did, he had seen enough during his fight against the Red Skull, and what Loki had had Dr. Selvig built to know that it was not a good thing to happen. He had no recourse, no authority much less justification to stop the demonstration. It also seemed that his counterpart standing on the other side of the hall, or James were going to stop it, as the com line remained silent.

He did not understand what was going through Natasha's mind in her suggestion. He knew that she had seen what the Tesseract could do. She had been the one to shut down the portal--

“Of course, Black Widow,” the manager stated, with a strained smile on her lips, as Steve noticed that more than a few people around him were looking decidedly nervous.

An uneasy feeling crept up Steve's stomach, and it was not just only because the manager had gestured for someone below to bring up the Tesseract, but something about those around him and Daisy didn't _feel_ right. It was similar to the initial gut feeling that he had gotten into the elevator at the Triskelion and the Strike Teams had ended up attacking him.

That feeling grew as the glowing blue Tesseract, being carried on a silver tray, emerged, and was placed on the pedestal. Steve turned slightly towards Daisy, leaning towards her as if to whisper into her ear, just as she was drawing her left hand back. “Lead, we might have a snag--” he quietly spoke into her jeweled bracelet that disguised her com microphone.

Before he could complete his warning, a shot rang out into the all, ringing quite loudly in his ears for a moment. The Tesseract shattered, but rather than something catastrophic happening on stage, all that fell out was a small device that looked like it was projecting something holographic.

A voice behind Steve and Daisy shouted, “You're bidding on a fake piece Widowmaker, just like your deception towards us will no longer be tolerated. The real Black Widow died that day, loyal to Madam Hydra in the end. You and your SHIELD cohorts will not continue to besmirch their names with your lies!”

Unease turned straight into dread as Steve and Daisy were not the only ones to turn around in response to the declaration. Steve was already in the midst of pulling out his sidearm from the jacket holster, just as he saw those around them doing the same. The man who had stated that was a low-level criminal information broker for a hedge fund manager – someone who barely registered or warranted enough attention to be placed on James's dossiers. Yet, Steve's eyes widened ever so slightly as he saw the expert handling that the 'information broker' had on the sniper rifle he had used to shoot the false Tesseract.

It was a trap—but before that thought could even be finished, black-clad soldiers suddenly burst through the main entrance and through the side ones. Windows lining the hall above were also shattered as more soldiers jumped in, engulfing the entire hall in a sea of black. Shots rang through the air, mingling with the shouts. Daisy unleashed two short bursts of her powers – enough to bowl over several black-clad soldiers nearest to them, and those criminals who had been about to shoot them dead.

It also gave Steve a glimpse of the sniper pushing and shoving his way through the throng, punching people left and right. Beyond that, and for a quick moment he saw the tell tale glow of the actual Tesseract, and that a woman with dark hair was running up the stairwell with it. “Someone's got the Tesseract! Headed to the rooftop!” he shouted into the com as he spun and clocked a fur-covered mercenary who had tried to grab him. “Trying to pursue!”

Firing his gun in a scattered but precise direction to give himself some breathing room, he ducked and punched a soldier in the stomach, folding him in half. Shoving the folded soldier back into the crowd, the force of his throw was enough to cause two more to stumble backwards. Daisy had followed his momentum with a quick blast of her powers, almost drowning out the acknowledgement that was being shouted into their ears.

“Copy!”

That was enough for Daisy to unleash a longer, but still short enough blast to bowl back a somewhat clearer path. He ran ahead, noticing that the sniper had also spotted their quarry and was a few steps and people ahead of him and Daisy. “Sniper is also after the target,” he stated into the com.

Whether it was fortune or some dumb luck that managed to not evaporate with their blown covers, the two of them managed to fight and get free from the crowd, leaving a fair amount of shattered elbows or knees, along with dazed bodies in their wake. Black-clad soldiers tried to stop them, but quick shots from both him and Daisy downed the soldiers, through Daisy immediately discarded her Walther, having run out of bullets.

Steve tossed her his sidearm and a clip to her, as he drew another out from the other holster at his side. He ran up the stairs three at a time, faster than what Daisy could take. It was imperative that they get to the rooftop as fast as possible before the sniper could get to the Tesseract.

He slammed into and through the metal door, the force of his impact lifting the door off of its hinges. It clattered in a crumpled heap of metal onto the rooftop, but Steve was already running towards the end of the rooftop. The report of several sniper shots was heard as he saw the operative crouched and curled away from him, firing at a vehicle that was rapidly flying away.

Before he could reach the sniper though, a sudden flurry of movement out of the corner of his left eye alerted him to an incoming attack. He turned and raised his arms up in an 'x' at the nick of time, as several enemy operatives parachuted down onto the rooftop.

“Quake!” he shouted, seeing Daisy get knocked over just as she emerged from the threshold between the rooftop entrance and the rooftop itself.

He immediately dragged his crossed arms down, unbalancing the operative enough to grab her by the front and flip her over, slamming her into the ground. Spinning and cartwheeling, with one of his cartwheel kicks managing to land on another operative's neck, downing that operative, he raced towards Daisy, who appeared to be unmoving. Two shots coming from behind him caused him to flinch for a split second, before two more operatives who had been on a diagonal intercept towards him fell into a heap, dead.

Risking a quick glance back, he saw that the sniper was fending off more operatives parachuting into the place, though it looked as if a burly operative had managed to get a slight surprise jump on him. Steve returned his attention to the forefront, but didn't get to reach Daisy, as Stevie and Clint emerged. Stevie jumped into the fray and cleared some room at the entrance, while Clint went to go attend to Daisy. Enemy soldiers continued to rain down on them, and there almost seemed to be no end – even when James and Natasha finally emerged onto the rooftop themselves.

Nevertheless, with the six of them and the mysterious sniper, fighting tooth, nail, and guns, they made short work of the parachuting operatives. Relative silence fell upon all of them, as Steve felt himself breathing rather harshly. They were not out of danger though, as Steve and the others turned their attention to the sniper, and saw a most unusual sight: a slight flap that rose up from the side of the man's neck. The shooter was wearing a full facial mask.

The mask was loosened from the man's neck; probably done so by the lone burly enemy operative who had gotten a surprise jump on him. Other than that, Steve could see no other sort of injury upon their mysterious shooter-turned-ally. However, he wasn't sure if he could call the sniper, or whatever he was, an ally. It had only been a few minutes since the man had blown all of their covers to kingdom come.

“Who the hell are you?” Steve heard his counterpart demand. Stevie was not the only one who had a gun pointed at the man – every person, save for Daisy, had a weapon of sorts aimed or brandished in the stranger's general direction.

Yet, even in the dim lighting of this rooftop battleground, the man suddenly dug his hand into the loosened fold of the mask. Steve couldn't help but grimace slightly as the memories of the Red Skull doing the same thing, came rushing back. The mask was removed and dropped to the ground, but the lighting afforded little to no other visual verification of the identity of the man. All any of them could discern was that the stranger's hair was dark, and not light as his mask had shown. It was only the two steps that the man took forward that finally allowed the light to play upon his face.

Steve felt his stomach turn to ice, as someone behind him let loose a heartfelt expletive. Standing before the six of them was Bucky, except that it was not Bucky as Steve knew. This iteration of James Buchanan Barnes, looked exactly like his counterpart in this other reality – short hair and all.

“LMD? Clone?” Daisy blurted out, as Steve saw her hands shake a little. “Cuz the Framework was all sorts of freaky shit--”

“Not a LMD,” the man that was not his reality's Bucky, nor apparently this reality's Bucky, stated. “Guess you can say that I'm from another reality.”

There was a familiar a touch of arrogance in the man's tone as Steve saw him shake his head slightly, before lifting his left arm up slightly and pulled out the knife that was embedded into the palm of his hand. The glove came with it as well. In what dim lighting there was in this place, Steve could see the gleam of silver reflecting the light – a mechanical left hand upon this other reality James Barnes.

An uneasy chill swept over Steve, though he did not understand why just staring at this other reality Bucky was causing that feeling. Even as the knife and glove clattered to the ground, Natasha was already taking a step forward, her gun pointed unwaveringly at this other incarnation of Bucky. Steve tensed, his guard raised in reaction to Natasha's actions.

“What do they call you?” she demanded.

“Natalia--” the man began, his tone a mixture of surprise, relief, and puzzlement.

Natasha's gun going off in the single shot she unleashed seemed louder than normal to Steve. Daisy flinched, while the others held themselves steady with their weapons still pointed at the man who had blown their covers. For a split second, the uneasy feeling in his stomach seemed to grow ten-fold as he saw the man standing in front of them glower ever so slightly. There was clear anger in his eyes – anger that Steve had seen in Bucky's eyes before, during the war – but there was also a profound pool of sadness.

The shot that Natasha had made was a deliberate miss though, as the bullet only scraped across the sleeve of the man's clothing – right across the apparent metallic deltoid muscle of the left mechanical arm. Even in the dim lighting conditions, Steve could feel a frown work down his lips as the fabric ripped and folded down slightly. Rather than the blood red star branded on the arm, there was a white star surrounded by both a blue and red concentric circles. It looked like a small illustrative replica of the shield.

“The Winter Soldier,” came the quiet, reluctant answer that sounded a little too even and too eerily calm in Steve's ears.

“One last question, Barnes,” Natasha stated, taking another step forward, her gun now pointed directly at the man's forehead. “Спутник.”

* * *

_Reality: Avengers Earth (MCU)_

_Wakanda_

 

Bucky looked up as he heard the distant rumble of thunder. It was still sunny where he was, but about ten miles or so to the west was a horizon that stretched purple-black. A small sliver of the setting sun was peeking through the horizon, but it was clear that the storm would reach this area well before the sun would completely set. He could smell the refreshing rain coming, as thunder rumbled through again.

Setting his tool down, he secured what was left of the hay he had been bundling together. He managed to get everything put away and entered his hut just as the pitter-patter of rain began. A gust of wind attempted to keep his hut's door open, but he was much too quick for it to do anything as he closed the door, leaned against it, and latched it with his single hand.

Walking past the main table where he had a small radio courtesy of his distant neighbors, he flicked it on. Even with the storm coming in, the radio still received excellent reception, due to the technology inside of its deceptive-looking simple exterior. Glancing at the casing that contained Shuri's gifted mechanical arm that was leaning against the wall in the main room, he couldn't help but frown slightly. Since returning to his hut, he had left the casing there, not wanting to look inside and at the arm.

He knew that Shuri meant well with the gifting of the arm, and he had meant his words when he had told her that he didn't think he needed it. Yet he felt no compulsion to take it out and take it apart to continue to build his fine-tune handling of doing every day things with one arm and hand.

It just sat there, like a monument to all of his sins.

Perhaps that was what was bothering him—his thoughts screeched to a halt as he heard 'Steven G. Rogers' mentioned over the station he had left it on the last time he had listened to it. Stepping over, he upped the volume and couldn't help but frown a little further as he listened to what was being broadcast.

“... repeat: the reports coming out of Washington that US Army Captain Steven G. Rogers, also known as Captain America, was tried for treason in absentia by a military tribunal of his peers. We know very little, except that chief among the charges that were brought up against him was the aiding and abetting the known and wanted terrorist, codenamed: the Winter Soldier. Further charges include the unlawful dismantling of SHIELD, as well as the unauthorized leak of highly sensitive and classified information, and inciting mass civil unrest.”

“We have also received word that even though this was a military tribunal, certain members of the public were allowed to sit in and listen to the proceedings. Among those are current Avengers members, and Sokovia Accord signers: Tony Stark and Colonel James Rhodes. Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes are the operators of the Iron Man and Iron Patriot suits, respectively. Confirmed reports also cite that King T'Challa of Wakanda was present, though we do not know why.”

“Listeners will remember the debate that we held among experts in foreign policy when SHIELD fell and decades of classified information was released onto the internet. Listeners will also remember the psychologists we brought in to evaluate and assess how exactly HYDRA was able to deceive the masses for so long. Tonight, we would like to open the forum to you, listeners, to--”

Bucky reached over and turned the radio off with a little more force than necessary. “Tried by his peers, my ass,” he couldn't help but mutter, as he curled his right hand into a fist. “All of his peers are fucking ninety-plus years old.”

He resisted the urge to punch his fist into the table or the nearest wall, and instead, settled for glaring at the casing that contained the arm. It didn't need to be stated by the radio, as he already knew the verdict in his heart: Steven Grant Rogers, the most loyal and ardent son to the United States, was now formally branded a traitor to his country. And it was all because he alone – he, James Buchanan Barnes – had been the cause of that; another thing to add to the shit list of things he needed to apologize for.

* * *

_Reality: Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA Earth_

_New York City_

 

“Спутник.”

“That doesn't work on me anymore,” the man who was not the James Barnes of their reality that Steve knew, growled. There was a dangerous edge in that tone, and to him, it felt a little more menacing than the blank slate he had encountered while fighting Bucky as the Winter Soldier.

Their brief reprieve from fighting was interrupted, as Steve thought he heard the faint sounds of boots climbing up the stairwell. “We've got incoming!” Stevie shouted a moment later, swiveling at nearly the same time that Steve had turned towards the lone door that led to the rooftops.

A hollow ringing sound, almost drowned out by the cacophony of gunfire being unleashed, sang through the air. Steve had ducked behind the nearest pillar, pausing for a moment as the bullets that had been tracking him pinged off of the pillar. He also caught the tail end of Daisy's blast towards the man who had blown their covers, seeing him get slammed into ground with enough force to knock him out. At least he hoped that this other reality James Barnes was knocked out.

The sudden buzz of gunfire from a minigun to his left returned him into the heat of battle as he glanced out towards his right to see that James and Natasha were firing their weapons towards the black-clad soldiers who were spilling out of the lone stairwell entrance-exit. A couple soldiers had taken cover behind the entrance way, while others were carefully advancing, stepping over their dead comrades. All in all, it told Steve that these black-clad soldiers, whoever they were, were well trained in military tactics.

He glanced over to his left: one of the enemy soldiers was wielding a minigun, pinning Stevie and Daisy down – both were barefooted. Two soldiers nearest to the two had what looked like half broken high heel shoes embedded within them though. He couldn't see Clint anywhere, and hoped that the archer had either gotten out of the way, or was finding a better perch to call out the patterns. However, while the other soldiers were occupied in trying to take James and Natasha down, that left him an opportunity.

His handgun was not the most accurate weapon, but the center of mass on the minigun operator was great enough that it took only three shots from his gun to put the soldier down. He dashed and ducked as a few soldiers tried to track him. Flecks of super heated concrete and wood shrapnel, along with fragments of metal from bullets ricocheting off what spindly metal barriers, pipes, and other things they took shelter behind, clawed at him. He slid into cover, next to James and Natasha, just as another enemy soldier wielding yet another minigun, unleashed a torrential flurry of bullets.

“Shit, these guys are not going to run out!” James's frustrated grunt was barely heard as Steve pulled out the small sidearm he had worn on an ankle strap.

He tossed the gun to Natasha, who coolly caught it, unsafing it as she popped out of where she had been hiding. He saw her unleash all four bullets in the gun before dropping back down into cover. He didn't know if she had struck anyone, but considering her marksmanship, Steve could assume that she had at least injured four soldiers.

“Duck and cover!” Clint's warning over com blasted across their ears, as Steve barely reacted in time, flattening himself onto the ground.

The air grew heated and thick as the sounds of a modified HueyCobra helicopter designed to carry a small crew, beating its rotor blade over them, filled the air. The two miniguns on the rotorcraft were also firing away. It was enough to give Daisy the room to finally pop up from being pinned down. It was a welcomed relief for Steve as he poked his head up ever so slightly and saw the soldiers flying back, crashing onto the far side of the rooftop.

“Move it!” James ordered over com, as Daisy held herself steady, blasting soldiers back with pulses of her earthquake power, instead of continuously knocking them down.

Steve glanced over towards where Daisy had initially knocked down the other Barnes. As cautious and guarded as he was, he did not want to leave the man there, out cold and slumped against the structure he had slammed into. That man had blew all of their covers, but he had also fought against the people who had initially attacked them. To leave him here was to leave him at the mercy of the chaos below them, and he didn't know if he was willing to do that.

“Steve, grab him!” Natasha's confirmation, half-shouted into his ears sealed his decision.

Handing his gun over to her, he half-crouched, running while remaining in cover as best as he could, and made his way to where the man was. Natasha followed him, occasionally popping up and firing the gun. Sliding and slipping to a halt next to Barnes, Steve immediately turned and hefted him up, slinging him in a rescue-carry manner over his shoulders, ignoring the sharp pressing pain of the cuts and shrapnel embedded within him.

As he and Natasha fell back towards the waiting helicopter, he saw Daisy begin to pull back as well, with Stevie flanking and covering her. Natasha hopped onto the belly of the helicopter first, as Steve backed into the lip of the aircraft. He released his hold on Barnes's body, and turned to get into the helicopter, helping Natasha pull the man in. Not a second later, Stevie and Daisy also climbed in, grabbing the ceiling railing to steady themselves.

Steve glanced up to see that James had already taken the co-pilot's seat, manning the miniguns, while Clint concentrated on piloting. As the helicopter rapidly rose up, two 70 mm rockets flew out of the pods on the side of the helicopter, exploding in a spectacular manner on the rooftop. He turned away from the carnage, as the helicopter pulled away.

The ride was short, as there was no way that they would be able to get out of New York City without alerting more people. From his vantage point, Steve could not see any police helicopter or otherwise following them. He couldn't hear what James was telling Clint over the headsets, but he could see a part of the projection of the holographic map that James had thrown up into the cockpit windshield.

Red and blue triangles, most likely denoting hostile or allied forces that the IFF on this helicopter's data banks, littered the sky. Some of the reds were marked with alpha-numeric numbers – NYPD designation – while the blues, identified by logo and numbers only, indicated that they were allies and engaged in an aerial battle of some sort. He saw James gesture with a hand, winding it around the clustered group – a potential path to safety. There was also no where else for them to go, as Clint flew them back to the safe house that they had met James in.

As soon as they passed through the holographic covering on the rooftop, Clint set the helicopter down. As he powered it down, James had already clambered out, heading towards a small panel near the elevator. Steve saw him fiddle with something, and a low-level hum began to rise as the whine of the engines and beating of the rotor went silent. As Stevie and Daisy climbed out as well, Steve poked his head out and saw a milky-white dome stretched above their heads.

“Not ideal, and certainly a power drain on the system, but we're not the only ones with this system installed here,” James stated, returning to where they were. Natasha was still crouched within the helicopter as Steve hopped out. Clint had emerged as well, and stood next to them. “Any arms dealer, syndicate, crime boss, or otherwise in this city who is worth their salt would have already activated the system as an emergency measure. We can't take to the skies until the pattern dies down a little.”

“So how long do we have until something comes knocking on our door?” Stevie asked.

“Three hours tops,” James answered. “There is one gang under the leadership of Madam Gao, located fifteen floors below ours. They've been sufficiently bribed to delay any advancement of officers or rival crime bosses. I wouldn't worry about the NYPD finding us – Kingpin's got them in his pocket, and they'll be mainly around Hell's Kitchen. I'd be more worried about what that bastard--” Steve saw James roughly jab a finger towards the another reality version of himself “--did to HYDRA. And where or how the hell that woman was able to grab the Tesseract without dissolving... or whatever you said your reality's Tesseract did to the Red Skull, Steve.”

“Dissolve or transported,” Steve spoke up. “Wasn't exactly sure what the Tesseract did to the Red Skull.”

“Either way, we have three hours to plan a course to get out of here, and see if we can get information from this doppelganger of mine,” James stated. Steve saw him nod towards the rest of them, saying, “Go get changed and armed up. I'll get this guy situated.”

“You sure, sir?” Daisy asked.

“Yeah. I got this,” James stated. “Biometric sensors should be keyed to your stats, Quake.”

There was some reluctance in all of them, but given that James still was team lead in this mission, he was the one giving orders. None of them had any justifiable reasons to stay where they were. Steve knew that he could offer to help carry the unconscious man in, but the shortness of James's words, along with the way he held himself told Steve that the intelligence officer was quite angry. It was the same way Bucky held himself at times when the bullies hurled verbal insults at one or both of them on the main streets – expecting a fight to break out right then and there.

Back then, Steve knew that he had been the more impulsive, more reckless of the two of them; reacting to every slight with overwhelming anger. He knew that he had caused Bucky to be more than reckless a few times with his impulsive and quick-to-anger nature. Now, he had to mentally thank the many times that Bucky had not exploded in rage right then and there, and dragged them away to keep the situation from escalating.

This situation was the same, even if it was many decades and realities removed. “All right,” he stated out loud, knowing that that was needed to make sure that none of the others, including Stevie, would jump in.

He forced himself to walk away from the helicopter, hearing Natasha climb out behind him. Clint also left, as did Daisy. Stevie was the only one who didn't follow the group to the elevator. Steve entered the elevator, holding it for a moment as he saw his counterpart finish talking to James in quiet tones that even he couldn't hear, before she joined them.

The elevator whisked them down to the floor where their safe house was, and per James's orders, Daisy unlocked the doors. They trudged in, and Steve stripped himself of all of the armaments, empty and those that had clips remaining. He set all of his guns on the nearest table, as the others did the same. They would sort it out later.

With his adrenaline bleeding away, and the safety of the safe house closing in on him, he could feel the tiredness nipping at him. It was nothing like a protracted fight, but more of a mental one. Steve followed the others down the hall as he loosened his collar – the bow tie having been sheared off somewhere during the firefight. However, as he passed by Natasha's room, he saw her sitting on the floor in the furthest corner of the room hunched over, staring straight ahead but was unmoving.

“Nat?” he asked, knocking on the door before entering. “Nat, are you all right?”

He crouched before her, and reached out, just as she blinked and looked up at him. “Y-yeah.” she said.

“Nat, what's wrong?” he asked. It was very unusual for him to see her so withdrawn. The last time he had seen her like this was just before they carried out the operation to dismantle the Insight Helicarriers – when they had arrived at Sam's house, and finally had a moment to catch their breaths.

“I'm sorry, Steve,” she unexpectedly stated, grimacing slightly. “I'm sorry for this.” He remained silent, knowing that she wasn't done with her explanation yet. “I shouldn't have dragged you into this.”

“Nat,” he began, sitting down next to her. “You didn't. Why are you blaming yourself? I chose to come here myself.”

“Because I got a tip from Dr. Strange, Steve,” she said, glancing over at him. “When I went to go investigate the Time Stone that he guarded, he told me that he was aware that there was a reality portal open between our world and this one. He didn't report it to the authorities, or forcibly close it using his magic because there wasn't any threat coming through.”

“Okay,” Steve began, feeling slightly apprehensive as to what Natasha was going to say next.

“He and his associate know how to control the passage through realities, Steve – how to manipulate them as well. It's not just the Time Stone they're guarding,” she continued. “I wanted proof of what he said, and that he wasn't abusing his powers. I was ready to turn myself into the authorities if I saw otherwise, just to put him on their radar.”

She paused, sighing as she looked forward again. “He showed me the proof. I saw many, many realities, Steve. In those realities, I also learned something: almost all of them contained a Winter Soldier, and Barnes was the one codenamed as so. This was the only reality that I saw that had the unusual variant – me. When I saw him – that Barnes with the shield branded on his arm instead of the blood red star.--”

“Nat,” Steve gently interrupted, carefully removing his jacket and shook it out. He placed it over her shoulders. “It's all right.”

She shook her head. “Very few of the realities that Dr. Strange showed me had the Winter Soldier freed, Steve.” She tucked the jacket closer to her as she continued to say, “Because the Soviets considered my work a lot more high-profile than the ghost that was the Winter Soldier, whenever we worked together, they gave me a 'shut off' command. I was to use it in the event that either I or the Winter Soldier were compromised, or worse, if his programming came undone in the middle of a mission.”

“Спутник, right?” he asked, somehow managing to keep the chill he felt from coloring the tone of his voice.

Steve knew that it was useless for him to get angry at Natasha for what she had done in her past, especially when working with Bucky while he was the Winter Soldier. She was as much of a victim of the machinations of HYDRA as Bucky had been. It just pained him to hear that such a measure had to be taken because HYDRA had wiped Bucky's mind too many damn times and _knew_ that their programming was not foolproof.

“It was something else,” she answered. “Спутник came from one of the many realities that I was shown. In the event that we got caught up in another 0-8-4, I wanted to be ready.”

He remained silent for a long while, even as they both heard the door to the safe house open and close. Murmured voices from Stevie, having gotten changed into her original outfit floated down the hall, as the sounds of James and her maneuvering the unconscious man accompanied it. He knew that Natasha did not have good memories of the Winter Soldier, however hazy they were. He also knew that she was still resolving her near-death experiences regarding the Winter Soldier with what had happened to Bucky.

She looked over at him, saying, “I'm sorry to have dragged you into this Steve. I didn't want you to know that there had been other potential ways to stop the Winter Soldier, because none of them would have helped your Bucky recover his memories. The commands were just that – a 'shut off' to ensure that he was stopped without the need to inflict anything physical.”

Steve breathed in deeply, scrubbing his face with his hands, as he felt his rapidly healing cuts tug slightly with the new skin growing over the old. “Do you think we should leave?” he asked.

She silently shook her head. “There's a reason why this Barnes, this 'Winter Soldier' blew our covers and decided to not kill us in the chaos. I want to know why.”

“All right,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder that was covered by his jacket. He squeezed her shoulder in reassurance before getting up.

Just as he reached the door, he heard her speak up, asking, “Steve?”

“Yeah?” he answered, turning slightly.

“Are _you_ all right?”

He remained silent for a moment before looking away, saying, “I don't know.”

He returned to his room as he glanced down the hall to see that Clint and Daisy had also finished changing and were back in their SHIELD uniforms. The firearms on the tables had been moved to the side and were currently being disassembled and cleaned by both of them. He didn't go back down the hall, and instead headed into the room where his uniform was.

Closing the door, he removed his vest and carefully unbuttoned his shirt. In the full length mirror that was situated in the corner of the room, he turned to observe just how much shrapnel had embedded itself into his skin. Most of it had been removed when he had removed his jacket, vest, and shirt. As he reached back to pluck what remained out, he used the shirt to briefly stem the flow of blood until his accelerated healing could take over.

When he was done with the brief patch up, that was when he began properly changing into his uniform. When he emerged and made his way back down the hall, with the feeling of the weight of his reinforced padded uniform bringing him a tiny modicum of comfort, he saw that the others, including Natasha were already there. James was the only one still dressed in the clothes he had worn to the gala-auction, but he didn't look as if he was going to change any time soon.

The man who looked like James, but had the metal arm of the Winter Soldier, was not tied to the chair he had been positioned in. While a more saner and safer way would be to bind the man up, it seemed that James was confident that one or all of them could take the man out. Daisy had easily done so on that rooftop battle.

“No identification on him,” James stated, as Steve decided to stand next to his counterpart for what he hoped was not going to be a brutal interrogation. Covers blown or not, it was not something he would allow any of them to do to a prisoner. He was also certain that Stevie would not condone such an action either.

“Except for dog tags,” James continued to say as he saw the agent reach over and pull out a chain that had two small metal plates, from under the formal outfit that the man wore. “James Buchanan Barnes,” the agent stated, letting go of the dog tags so that they flopped onto the unconscious man's chest. “Same birth date as me, but born in 1924. Same blood-type, ID number...”

“So he may have fought in World War Two?” Steve guessed as he couldn't help but frown as he stared at their prisoner.

Considering how _young_ this Barnes looked, if this man had fought and possibly fallen in the war, he would have been no older than twenty-one. Steve had seen soldiers younger than that lose their life in battle. Yet, for some odd reason, thinking about just how young this man could have been to have 'died' made him sad. However, he knew that he was imposing his own assumptions and knowledge of Bucky onto this man, as to how Barnes became the Winter Soldier. He knew next to nothing about this man sitting slumped before them, except for what had been stated.

“Sniffing salts?” Daisy pipped up, as Steve glanced over to see Clint dabbing a concoction of liquid things from a medical kit into a wad of gauze.

“Let's hope this works,” Clint stated, taking a step forward and passing the wad under the man's nose.

The effect was instantaneous as Steve saw the man jerk back before blinking wide awake. “The hell--?!” was the first thing he said.

“Where did that woman take the Tesseract?” Stevie jumped in before any of them could begin questioning.

“You didn't bind me,” Barnes stated, frowning. However, before he could move his hands up, James had already stepped back and to the side, leveling his revolver at the back of the man's head. It was a move that sent an uneasy chill down Steve's spine, as it looked almost exactly like the same action that Bucky had performed on a captive Leopold Fitz while stuck in the Framework.

“Don't even think about it,” he heard James growl.

“Captain,” Stevie warned, and Steve was not the only one to see the man's eyes widened ever so slightly at the mention of James's rank.

“You blew all of our covers. Why?” James demanded.

“Your information about those attending the auction,” Barnes quietly said. “It was all wrong. The woman who stole the Tesseract was an operative I was pursuing. She's the one who fed you that information, and used you as bait for her heist.”

“Prove it,” Stevie stated, as Steve saw her crouch slightly so that she was eye-to-eye with their prisoner.

It wasn't quite a flinch, but there was a noticeable twitch of Barnes turning his head slightly away from Stevie. To Steve, it looked as if their prisoner was trying to avoid looking at Stevie. He realized that it applied to him as well as soon as he saw Barnes's eyes briefly settle on him, before looking as quickly away. He thought he saw guilt, along with something else buried in that quick look. Something about both him and his counterpart was making their prisoner uneasy, and that in turn made him even more worried and cautious.

Their prisoner remained silent, jaw set and clenched in either anger or stubbornness – Steve couldn't tell at the moment. At the moment, this man was an incredibly difficult person to read, even more so than James or when he had found Bucky in Bucharest. No one, save James's continued action of pointing a revolver at the back of their prisoner's head, looked as if they were going to attempt to beat information out of their prisoner yet. However, he was not so naive to not know that eventually frustration would boil over and _someone_ would attempt to use other means to extract information.

“Who is the operative?” Natasha asked after a moment.

“LMD,” the man answered, focusing his eyes on Natasha. “Need something metal – specifically vibranium-alloy to handle the Cosmic Cube without it--”

At once the lights in the safe house plunged into a red color. Steve heard both Daisy and Clint softly curse as James stepped away. Natasha stepped in to take the revolver from him and continue to press it against Barnes's head. “Nat...” Steve began, concerned at the blankness of Natasha's expression.

“It's okay, Steve. I got this,” she simply stated, with nothing in her tone reassuring him.

It was Stevie's rather forceful wrenching screech of of metal and plas-polymer near the area where the guns they had carried into the gala-auction, that diverted most of their attention. Emergency red lights not withstanding, it seemed as if the building's power had been completely cut. His counterpart had forcibly opened one of the weapons locker.

With James trying to boot up and engage whatever else defenses that were within the safe house, and to see if any situational awareness could be had, Steve went to the other weapons locker and tugged that open as well. Daisy came over to the locker he was at and grabbed two pistols and the necessary ammunition. Her bracers were on her forearms, but it was clear from her intermittently flexing her hands that she had partially fractured her bones during the rooftop escape.

“Hawkeye, emergency stairwell exit situated in my room,” Stevie stated as Steve took a rifle and a few blocks of ammunition, storing the blocks in the various compartments he had around his waist belt. “Scout and secure if possible,” his counterpart continued to say as an echoing scrabbling, nails-on-a-chalkboard sound was heard pinging up the elevator shaft.

“It's too late. The operative knows and has most likely anticipated your reactions to this,” their prisoner suddenly spoke up. “She's been pre-programmed for this, and has directed her forces to delay all of you and me even further from finding or pursing her. You're going to have to fight your way through either exit. I can help you.”

“ _Her_ forces?” Steve questioned before any of the others could. “They're not HYDRA?”

“I can help you,” the man repeated, his eyes landing on him in a cold, unflinching manner. It was the same empty look that Steve remembered seeing when he had first fought Bucky on the causeway.

Steve looked over towards James, whose expression was unreadable, as he saw lines of code flickering behind him. James had managed to either divert emergency power, or had a small enough back up battery power to begin erasing whatever data was stored here. Steve glanced over towards his counterpart, finding her expression also unreadable.

“Give the man a gun, Quake,” James stated. “Secure the emergency stairwell with Hawkeye. The rest of us will hold them off here.”

“Yes, sir,” Daisy answered, as Natasha stepped back, handing the revolver back to James before making her way over to the weapons locker to grab her own set of weapons.

Steve tightened his grip on his rifle ever so slightly as he saw their former prisoner smoothly get up, accepting the gun with his right hand from Quake without any fuss. Barnes merely checked the weapon in an external manner before reaching up with his metal left hand towards the dog tags. He thought that the man was going to tuck them back underneath his formal clothing, but instead, saw him tap the dog tags twice.

To his and everyone else's surprise, something black and rapid seemed to emerge from the center of the dog tags, wrapping and shredding at least the outermost layers of the formal clothing that Barnes was wearing. Like cells or puzzle pieces being put together in a sped up mode of operation, Steve saw a flexible-like body armor, black from waist down forming and growing. It looked similar to the fitted armor that King T'Challa had worn as the Black Panther.

However, as the armor continued to grow and form from chest up, Steve's eyes widened ever so slightly – red-white stripes, along with a blue chest and pauldron armor, and a centerpiece of a white star formed the upper-half of the armor. Black covered the sleeves area from deltoid muscle down, covering even the metal arm, but the formation was not yet complete.

“They're HYDRA,” Barnes stated, taking a deep breath as the armor continued to form around him. “But they're not this reality's HYDRA. They're from my reality, and are under the leadership of the Red Skull.”

A blue cowl was forming and crawling up, but none of them had time to witness the completion of the transformation, as the door and the wall adjacent to it imploded with an incredible amount of force. Steve barely managed to kick up the metal table just in time as black-clad soldiers, along with a platoon of troops wearing what looked like full hideously yellow-green hazmat suits poured in. Almost all of them were wielding variations of rifles that housed a blue glow in their cores.

“Hail HYDRA!” the enemy forces howled, as they opened fire.

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comics readers, especially those who have read the Brubaker arc of CA may recognize Dr. Faustus. For those who haven't read the comics, just kind of equate him to a worse version of Dr. Ivchenko from the Agent Carter TV series. Either way, he's a pretty horrible person, and both Steve and Daisy are lucky to not have been ensnared by him.


	5. Memory: незапятнанный

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**незапятнанный** _

_Year:_ _1943, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Location: SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

It laughed at him.

It was not the hearty laughter that would leave his stomach in pain from laughing too much at some joke that Steve had made. Nor was it the shy, breathless half-laughter that brushed across his ears with all of the girls he showed affection towards, even though he usually lost attraction towards them because of how they treated Steve. It was not even the excited giggles that tore across the Brooklyn Naval Shipyards when the rascally kids of the neighborhood decided that the shipyards were the best place to play a dangerous game of tag.

It _laughed_ at him, and Bucky hated it.

Its rounded edges, beveled concentric circles that someone – probably Howard Stark – lovingly painted it blue and red, laughed at him. Loudest of those was the white star in the center, blazingly clear and enormous enough that it was always a target. It was pristine and unblemished. Even the carbon scoring from bullets impacting it did little to detract it from its inanimate beauty.

The shield howled in derision at him.

It taunted him like the bullies in Brooklyn did.

_You can't protect skinny Steve anymore!_

_I'm the one protecting him now, asshole!_

_I can protect him, and not break, or get shot and killed – unlike you!_

Bucky's growl of frustration didn't even reach audible levels before a weighty hand landed on his shoulder. He blinked and looked over, slightly surprised to see Steve standing next to him. He didn't even hear his best friend walk up next to him, much less get used to the fact that Steve's hands were bigger and a lot more muscular than they had been.

“Everything all right, Buck?” Steve asked. “You looked like you were angry about something.”

“Y-yeah,” he said, his anger at the shield temporarily leaving him, as he mentally shook his head, wondering how the hell he had managed to get so riled up and jealous over an inanimate object.

“You wanna go get something to eat at the pub?

“Sure,” he answered, hoping that none of the irrationality that he had just experienced was coming through the tone of his voice.

Steve loped an arm around his shoulders – it still felt oddly comforting that Steve was able to do that now – and briefly pulled him close before lessening the hold. As they walked up and out of Howard's laboratory, Bucky slung his arm around his best friend's shoulders. Steve n' Bucky. Bucky n' Steve. They were still the same, and Bucky didn't bother looking back to give one last glare at the infernal shield. He mentally shook his head; it was stupid of him to get jealous over an inanimate object.

“So,” he said, tucking all thoughts of the shield away as he glanced over and poked Steve in the middle of his chest with a finger. “We need to get you drunk. Completely drunk, now that it looks like you're able to knock back a few pints without passing out.”

“Bucky...” Steve began, protesting as he usually did whenever he felt that something idiotic had been suggested.

Bucky couldn't help but grin, not only because he had expected it, but also because he was happy to see and hear that familiar tone of exasperation. The serum hadn't done anything to change Steve, personality-wise, and for that, he was glad. Letting go as they made their way up and to the main floor of the SSR Headquarters, he half-turned towards Steve, saying, “You know that some of the boys will want to try to drink you under the table, Steve. You need practice!”

“I don't need practice,” Steve retorted in a low tone, frowning in annoyance as they breezed by the people on the main floor.

Thankfully, none of the brass present deigned to stop Steve for some inane question or another. It did not escape Bucky's notice, and he was certain that it also did not escape Steve's notice, that heads were turning towards Steve when they walked by the stations. Even the code-breakers and analysts working on the main floor paused in their activities to _watch_ Steve walk by.

They climbed up to the first floor of the building that the underground SSR was situated in without incident, though. As soon as they were out the door and headed to the pub across the street, Bucky couldn't help but cheekily state, “You need practice for everything, Steve. Including kissing all of those dames we just passed. They couldn't keep their eyes off of you.”

Steve stopped a few feet short of reaching the pub's doors, forcing Bucky to stop as well. “Bucky,” he said, turning to face him. “I'm not... I'm—I don't need practice for anything. I'm fine right now, and I just... I just need--”

“You just need to eat, because you're getting irritable,” he finished up for him, knowing that perhaps he may have taking his teasing of him a little too far this one time. “Sorry.”

“It's all right,” Steve said, smiling his familiar smile that told Bucky that all was forgiven. “My treat?”

“Hell, yeah,” he agreed. “You're on actual captain's pay, right?”

At that, Steve barked in laughter, gently thumping him on his left shoulder with a fist as they entered the pub. Even at this hour, the pub was still noisy, boisterous, and downright choking with smoke. The owner was at the station, and when he saw both of them, Bucky gestured with a hand, indicating that they were going to go into the less crowded adjoining room.

He had visited this pub, not knowing that it was a haven for SSR personnel, three times before he and the rest of the 107th had shipped across Europe to Italy. His fourth trip had been when the Commandos had formed. Since this was his seventh trip, he supposed it was enough to become a regular.

“Thank God for an open booth,” he heard Steve murmur as they approached the only booth in the quieter section of the pub that was not taken.

Bucky took the seat facing the expanse of the pub before Steve could. Not only would Steve not be seen in the booth unless someone deliberately walked to this corner of the pub, but it made Bucky feel more settled. He didn't know why, but ever since he had returned from Azzano, he needed his back against the wall while sitting in such a crowded, unruly place. It had only been Steve sitting right next to him that one time he sat at the relatively quiet bar in the pub that he had managed to sit without a wall against his back.

“You a regular here now, Buck?”

“Yeah,” he answered, grinning. “Food's much better than the rations they give to us in the field. Company as well. Can't stand all of that orderly chaos from the brass down there... present company excluded, of course.”

“Oh, really?” Steve asked as he saw laughter in his eyes.

“Hey, I told you I was not following Captain America. I'm following a skinny little punk from Brooklyn,” he gently countered. “He just happens to wear a star-spangled outfit.”

Steve snorted in laughter, as one of the pub's runners brought over two pints of ale and two of what Bucky usually ordered to eat in the past six times he had been here. Giving the runner their thanks, he saw Steve take a swig of his ale before setting that down and looking at the bowl of stew in front of him.

“You asked if I was going to keep the outfit,” Steve said, digging into the stew. “I'm assuming you asking that means you liked it.”

“My opinion on that outfit counted?” he asked, slightly surprised at his friend's admission.

“Your opinion counts for everything, Buck,” Steve stated in an unusually solemn tone.

“Huh,” he uttered, not knowing what to make of that.

“I'm having Howard patch up and modify the uniform, Bucky,” Steve continued to say. “Add some more reinforced padding into the sides, and bulk up the shoulder area.”

“Are you going to ask him to integrate a cowl?” he asked, watching him gesture to the areas where he had indicated the stars-and-stripes uniform was being modified. “A helmet can protect only so much.” He bent his head down slightly and poked the back of his neck with two fingers, saying, “I saw two men in my platoon go down from shrapnel cutting into their necks. Ricochet from the bullets that the Nazis were firing did that.”

“I'll ask him to add it then,” Steve said, nodding in appreciation. “Anything else that you think the uniform needs? Any other places that need to be reinforced? Legs? Arms?”

Bucky frowned slightly, placing his spoon down, as he wondered why Steve was asking him for input now, when he had seen Steve off in a corner prior to their first mission as the Howling Commandos, sketching diagrams and specifications for his uniform. “Steve,” he said, the tone of his voice causing his friend to stop eating. “Why are you asking me this now? I mean, I appreciate you taking my opinion into account, but I thought you had it worked out with Howard about the uniform and all of your stuff to go with it.”

“I told you, your opinion counts for everything--” Steve began.

“Steve.”

Steve fell silent, as Bucky knew it was customary for him to, whenever he called him out on trying to worm his shy way out of something that was bothering him. However, rather than let the issue go as he had done so many times before, he remained as he was, watching his best friend with careful eyes. Steve was looking this way and that for a few moments, staring down at the stew before frowning for a quick second.

“Are you really all right with this, Bucky?” Steve quietly asked after a few long moments that was only punctuated by the raucous laughter and drunken singing from the other room in the pub.

Those vivid blue-green eyes of his looked up, and Bucky saw the seriousness in them, along with concern. “Are you really all right with me being Captain America? With me charging in, tip of the spear?”

For a long minute, Bucky couldn't say a word. It was not because his stew had gotten stuck in his throat, but because in a few short words, Steve had completely plowed through the wall that he thought he had successfully built up around his denial. The irrationality of his jealousy at the shield; the pristine, unblemished shield that protected Steve better than he ever could, rose up again. It crashed and clashed with the words that he had told Steve the night the Commandos had formed, and what he had been trying to convince himself of since the two-day walk back to Azzano from the HYDRA base weeks ago.

“Bucky?”

Steve's quiet, concerned calling of his name over the faraway sounding noise of the pub snapped him out of his thoughts. He realized that he had pushed his bowl of stew away and was now staring at the table angrily. “No,” he stated, almost whispering it.

“Oh,” Steve simply stated in a forlorn tone.

“There will always be a part of me that will never be all right with you being Captain America, Steve,” he stated, knowing that it was better to get the truth out than to let it simmer. He looked back up, making sure that he held Steve's attention as he continued to say, “There will always be a part of me that worries over you, that wants to continue to be your shield.”

He fell silent for a moment, but before his friend could jump in, he shook his head, saying, “But I think you found a better substitute that can take more licks than I can. I'm kind of glad for that, because getting riddled with bullets ain't the kind of career I want in the Army.”

At that, he saw the edges of Steve's lips curl up in a faint smile. It was enough for him to continue on, saying, “I don't like it, but I can't stop you. I'm not going to stop you. I want to see you lead and be the inspiration that I... we all see in you, Steve. So yeah, I'm glad you're Captain America, because I—we _need_ you here. I'm glad that I can fight with you, and goddammit, don't go all weepy on me, Steve, but you were a damn fine sight for sore eyes for all of us at Azzano. You gave us the hope we needed. You showed that we could defeat HYDRA and the Nazis, even with their weapons.”

To his slight exasperation and because he expected it to happen, he saw Steve's eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Steve,” he began, quickly glancing around to make sure that there was no one in the vicinity of where they were seated. “Hey, punk, I told you not to get all weepy. Save it for your girl, Agent Carter,” he gently teased.

It was enough to get Steve to laugh instead, as he saw him blink a few times, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thanks, Bucky,” Steve said, sniffling once. “Thanks for letting me know. I didn't want you to think that you didn't matter to me, now that... well... this.” Steve shrugged, flailing his arms slightly as if he were still growing into his body.

“That why you wanted my opinion about your uniform, Steve?” he asked, curious as he pulled his stew back towards him.

“Partially,” Steve admitted. “You've also been in the battlefield longer than I have. I can't be a good leader if I'm not willing to listen to the 107th's best and most experienced First Sergeant.”

“Ooooh,” he said, lowering his tone as he couldn't help but tease his best friend again. “Trying to bribe me for something, Steve? I know you've seen me talking to the logistics officer. Dinner, a private booth, and you talking about your uniform can only get you so far, Steve. I'll have you know that I'm a tough customer to please. You can't win me over with that charmingly shy smile of yours all the time.”

At that, Steve shook his head, his turn to be exasperated as Bucky saw him flush pink in embarrassment. “It was the only booth available, jerk,” he heard him mutter.

“Hey, punk,” he said, reaching over and poking Steve's left arm with a finger, grinning at him. “Your uniform is good with all those changes. Just keep doing what you're doing – being a complete menace to HYDRA – and I'll keep watching your back, Steve. We're in this together, until the end of the line. We go home together, you hear me?”

Steve nodded, the smile on his face confident and happy. “Together, until the end of the line.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**незапятнанный** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	6. сумеречный (Dusk, re: Daybreak)

**Chapter 3: сумеречный (Dusk, re: Daybreak)**

 

“Hail HYDRA!”

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the rallying cry, as it sounded extremely idiotic to her, rather than a war cry designed to chill people to the bones. She instead, was already rolling down and under the table that Steve had kicked up, firing both pistols in her hands one after the other. The smell of sharp ozone from the glowing blue Tesseract-based blasts fizzled where her head had been, and had not been briefly blocked by the flying table. Several of the yellow hazmat-suited soldiers screamed as they fell to the ground, kneecaps blown out. Another bullet into their heads or hearts stopped their screams as she spun out of the way.

Steve punched through the knot closest to her, as she fired the last three bullets she had in her left pistol, downing those that he had barreled into before they could recover or fire their weapons. Reloading that pistol with a snap of her wrists as she spun in an arc, firing the last three bullets in her right hand pistol, she then dove and rolled up. Alternating her reload of the empty right hand pistol, she snap-kicked the nearest black-clad soldier, the soldier flew into the air, vaporized in an instant the blue blasts landed on the soldier.

Dancing and whirling around a pair of yellow-suited soldiers, she briefly caught a glimpse of their former prisoner, now clad in a metal-like armored version of the stars-and-stripes uniform. A orange-yellow circular shield – hard light in material – flared up ever so briefly across the left forearm of the man’s armor, violently decapitating from chin to crown, a soldier that he had been grappling with. Without blinking, Natasha calmly fired both pistols at a black-clad soldier who tried to take a flying leap at the man, downing the soldier mid-leap.

“Fall back!” she heard Steve shout.

A hail of bullets erupted from from either side of her, giving her just enough breathing room to backpedal. Steve and his counterpart were the ones who had provided it, as she heard his counterpart order, “Get up to the rooftop Widow, and help them clear it!”

“Got it,” she answered, seeing the two steadily take the slow steps back, ducking behind overturned furniture, as they too fell back.

Blue blasts soared over her head as she hurried down the hall to where the emergency stairwell was located. Ducking as a blast struck the wall just a few inches behind her head, she felt the heated flecks of brick that had not been vaporized by the impact pepper her. Rolling forward to keep her profile as small as possible as she entered the stairwell, she saw Barnes and their former prisoner pressed up against the small inlets on either side that made up the structure of the stairwell. Several bodies, not riddled with bullets, looked to be crushed against the wall between the two.

Spotting a grenade wedged underneath the bodies, she holstered her guns and snatched it up. “Fire in the hole!” she warned the two, just as she pulled the pin while running up the stairwell, and dropped it down the long drop to the ground floor.

Grabbing the railing to brace herself as the grenade exploded about four floors down from where she and the two were, she saw the wave of thanks from Barnes for the assistance. Wasting no more time, she dashed up the remaining flight of stairs. Bringing her pistols out to bear again, she emerged out onto the rooftop to the sounds of Tesseract weapons pinging against a hollow-ringing sound.

Agent Johnson had her arms splayed out nearly a hundred eighty degrees, the air before her hands wavering rather violently. She was expending her powers at a nearly constant rate to keep the hail of blue from pounding into the area where the quinjet – its cloaking gone – was sitting. She could barely hear the whine of the quinjet's engines firing up. However, the whirling glow of its rotors being reflected by the brightness of the Tesseract blasts impacting the vibrational wall told her otherwise.

Running up the open ramp, she saw Clint at the pilot's seat, flipping the necessary switches to get the bird quickly into the air. Holstering her pistols again, she wordlessly slid into the copilot’s seat, calling up the HUD for the rotary cannon. Grabbing the stick, she whirled the cannon around and angled it over Johnson’s head, aiming at the left hand side of the HYDRA forces. Pulling the trigger, she swept it back and forth in a steady manner, relieving Johnson of the burden to keep two forces at bay.

On the small ramp camera displayed in the corner of the HUD as the quinjet hovered a few inches off the ground, she saw Steve and the others finally appear. Out of the corner of her eyes as she kept the rotary cannon firing steadily, she saw Clint tap a few buttons to pull up the targeting mechanism for the small array of missiles that this quinjet carried. There was a steady beeping tone of a missile lock on the exit to the stairwell, and beyond that, the elevator.

As soon as the last of them crossed the threshold and into the quinjet, Natasha gave one last sweep of the rotary cannon to ensure that the ramp would close without incident. Clint immediately punched the quinjet forward, while simultaneously firing two missiles at the targets. The explosion briefly rocked the quinjet, but Natasha was already unbuckling herself from the copilot’s chair. She felt a shorthand tap of thanks on her forearm as she brushed by him, and answered with an acknowledgment of her own.

Entering the cargo hold, the door swished closed behind her, but she was already reacting to what was happening: that was, Barnes drawing his revolver out and pointing it at his counterpart’s head. The man who had blown their covers had only reacted by retracting the blue cowl that was clearly marked with an ‘A’ in the center. But Natasha was not fooled by the man’s passivity, as she carefully approached, with one of her pistols in a steady, two-handed grip.

“Uh… hey?” Johnson questioned uncertainly.

Natasha saw Johnson look back and forth between all of them, surprised that neither Steve or Steve’s counterpart were doing anything to stop their actions. Natasha knew that neither could – both of them still showed some lingering shock over the uniform and the actions that this other reality Barnes had taken in the battle. Even when she herself had caught a glimpse of how this man fought – it was incredibly violent and brutal. It was akin to the Winter Soldier of her reality. To be wearing a ‘Captain America’ uniform while killing in such fashion would be shocking to any of them, even though she knew that Steve had killed people before. Steve, and if she had to extrapolate with Steve’s counterpart as well, just never showed a such viciousness in killing enemy forces.

“Okay, who the hell are you, really?”

Even faced with two guns pointed directly at his head, Natasha had to give this man who wore an armored version of the stars-and-stripes uniform some credit to not flinch, or violently react to such a gesture. She saw the narrowing of his eyes, and however slight it was, Barnes's reaction was to press his revolver further into the side of this other-Barnes's head.

“No one,” other-Barnes stated. Barnes himself was about to open his mouth to rip this doppelganger of his a new one, when other-Barnes continued to say, “At least no one worth _tracking_.”

It then struck her that Barnes had been correct in the timing estimate. They had had three hours before an attack would come, but in the ensuing frenzy to secure their prisoner, regroup, and planning for their escape, none of them had carefully examined or scanned their clothing for any trackers.

That was basics of basics; SHIELD-101; and how they were always able to track Steve back in the day. Fury had ordered the bugging of Steve's apartment, and embedded tracking devices on his uniform and motorcycle. The only reason why he had ditched both after escaping from the Triskelion was courtesy of Clint who had outright told him about the trackers when the two had 'fought'.

“Shit, Steve!” she cursed, stepping back and away, immediately rounding on Steve, who was standing behind her, arms crossed over his chest.

“Daisy,” she heard Steve's counterpart exclaim at the same time, glad that she had also come to the same conclusion.

Natasha roughly grabbed Steve by his left arm, propelling him back with enough force to sit him down on a jump seat. “Need to check your hair,” she stated, safing her gun and holstering it.

“Wait, what--?” Steve began.

“Ma'am?” Johnson asked, equally puzzled.

“Romanov, here,” she heard Steve's counterpart state her name, and turned just in time to pluck a palm-sized oblong device from being thrown through air.

She didn't know what exactly it was, but as soon as she pressed the underside of it, a wide-angle light lit up on the other end of it. Flipping it around in her hand, she pointed it and panned it over Steve's head, saying, “Stay still, Rogers. You and Johnson are the only ones most likely to have tracking devices implanted on you from your mingling.”

“Faustus, most likely. The doctor sounded a little too interested in both of you,” he heard Barnes state before catching a glimpse of the agent throwing a small combat knife end-over-end into the door between the cargo hold and cockpit. Barnes remained where he was, standing between other-Barnes and the cockpit door, revolver still pressed against other-Barnes's head. The knife hit the door with the butt end and clattered to the ground, but it was enough to get Barton's attention.

The door slid open, and as Natasha continued to pan the device slowly over Steve's hair and beard, she heard Barton ask, “What's up?”

“Set level seven shielding. Switch to Foxtrot-five pattern, Clint,” Rogers's counterpart ordered. “I'll let you know when to burn it.”

Silence answered her order before Clint whistled in surprise, saying, “Shit, okay. We got the fuel to do that, but I’ve expended all missiles in getting us out of NYC’s airspace.”

“We'll make do--”

The device in Natasha's hand suddenly beeped, and she peered closer at Steve's head. What it had detected was close to Steve's left ear, and it looked more like a tiny black mite than anything else. A few seconds later, she heard the other device beep as well, as a hum filled the air. She glanced over to see Steve’s counterpart punch in a few things on a side panel to bring up a holographic projection of the quinjet. It glowed red, but there was no other markers besides two yellow dots in the same area where Steve and Johnson were sitting at.

An ear-piercing squeal tore through the cargo hold, causing her and everyone else to wince for a moment. When she looked back up, she saw Barnes’s counterpart lower his right arm ever so slightly, saying, “HYDRA’s hack into the trackers has been temporarily disconnected for the next ten minutes.”

Silence answered the statement, as Natasha was not the only one slightly puzzled by the actions taken. It was clear that no one, not even Steve, was sure they could trust this man at all. Help or hinder, it still stood that this man had blown their covers, creating chaos when it was clear to even her that SHIELD did not have the strength to repel a united enemy force.

“Have a seat, Mister,” she heard Barnes state, seeing the agent gesture with his revolver towards his counterpart. Even before other-Barnes surprisingly obeyed the order without protest, Natasha could feel the pull of gravity on her, as an S-turn was being made.

She reached up to grab a handhold and braced herself as she felt the pull of gravity increase for a moment before decreasing again. Returning her attention to the black mite of a tracker, she carefully plucked it out and away from Steve’s hair. Barnes was already waiting for her to drop it into a small compartment when she turned around, with his revolver still pointing unwaveringly at his counterpart.

Barnes’s counterpart was calmly staring at the two of them, before quickly averting his gaze when Steve’s counterpart approached to deposit her tracker. Natasha found it extremely strange that their prisoner-turned-ally-turned-prisoner again was not taking advantage of the divided attention of all of them to try to break free and hijack the aircraft. A better option would be for the man to explain himself, but he didn’t look like he was going to say a word.

Snapping the lid shut as soon as both trackers were within, she went back to take a seat next to Steve and strapped herself in. She saw Steve’s counterpart place the compartment at the edge where the ramp’s hinges would begin to lower down. “Clint, start the climb,” Steve’s counterpart ordered, as the rest of them made sure their crash webbing were tightly cinched.

“Wilco, Cap,” Clint acknowledged.

Rather than a slow, somewhat steep gradient of a climb that she had expected, Natasha felt herself being squashed to one side as Clint put the quinjet in a near-vertical climb. The quinjet’s engines were configured differently than her quinjet, as there was no ripple between stall and lift – and it seemed that rocket engines had been strapped to the back of it. As violent of a sub-orbital parabolic flight as it was, she did not black out, as she was used to this kind of flying from both Steve – and back in the day, from Clint as well.

At the apex of the climb, she saw Steve’s counterpart slap the button on the side of the quinjet to open the ramp. With a free-floating, weightless sensation gripping all of them, the wail of cautionary lights of the air being evacuated to equalize with the too-thin atmosphere rang steadily in their ears for thirty seconds. Natasha found it difficult to breathe for a few seconds.

As soon as the ramp began to split open, with what was left of the air still whistling steadily in their ears, that was when Johnson awkwardly leaned towards the center of the cargo hold. Natasha saw a brief burst ripple out from her hands, striking the floating compartment piece hovering between the lip of the ramp and outside.

It flew out, and before the ramp could open any further, it began closing. The short breaths that Natasha had been taking suddenly felt less like she was choking or gasping for air. The air began to equalize again as the flip-flop of her stomach indicated that they were now headed back down to a more normal flying pattern. She could only suppose that with missiles, Clint would have been able to angle and drop the quinjet into a blasting pattern to destroy the trackers to better ensure their escape.

Breathing easier, she glanced over as she felt Steve’s concerned eyes on her. Giving him a silent look that conveyed that she was all right, she returned her gaze forward. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed that their prisoner was still sitting quietly, armored hands folded together. It was incredibly strange to see someone with that kind of skills not even deigning to put up a fight. If she could feel any more unease, she did.

She knew that she should have said ‘yes’ to Steve’s question on whether or not they should leave. She knew that she had a right to just walk away and return to her reality, no matter how much she – or Steve – wanted answers. This was not their war, and this was only a request fulfilled, however mercenary-like she looked at it.

But when Steve had said ‘I don’t know’ in response to her question earlier, it told her that he had seen something in this other reality Barnes. What it was, she couldn’t begin to fathom, but whatever Steve saw, it was something he felt needed to be rectified. To make sure that her friend was not hurt in the process, she was determined to discover that secret first before he did.

* * *

_SHIELD's Underground Headquarters_

_A few hours later..._

 

“They're all too close to this.”

Steve turned his gaze away from staring at the man who wore an armored variant of what he could only assume was his and Stevie's uniforms. James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, or whomever he called himself and really was, was currently sitting in an interrogation room within SHIELD's headquarters. While the room had an unfinished, concrete-laced look, there was a metal table, and two metal chairs in the room. A one-way mirror had also been built into the room, and both he and Natasha were standing on the other side.

He glanced over to his left to see that Natasha was not looking at the same thing he was, but had her attention focused on three other people within the same room as the two of them were. Though James, Stevie, and Peggy were standing in the corner, deep in conversation that did not invite anyone else to participate, Steve saw a couple of wild gesticulations from James. He saw Peggy shake her head slightly before Stevie followed suit. James was clearly not happy, but the intelligence officer immediately left the room.

He returned his gaze to the forefront, as his counterpart came over to stand next to him. However, as the door to the operations side of the interrogation room swished open again, he glanced back to see Peggy walk out. He frowned in concern as a few moments later, the door to the interrogation room itself opened, and Peggy walked in.

“I thought James was going to question him?” he asked.

There was a minute, almost barely suppressed reaction from the man sitting unchained or cuffed in the room. A few shredded pieces of what was left of the man’s formal outfit hung over him, but the man was not naked. A grey bodysuit clung onto him and had not disappeared when the metal armored stars-and-stripes uniform had retracted back into the dog tags.

At the present though, it was not a movement that was made to attack, but more to shift ever so minutely back in his seat – as if this James Barnes was _trying_ to get away from Peggy. As odd of a reaction as it was, it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, causing Steve to frown even further. Something about him, Stevie, and now Peggy made Barnes incredibly nervous, and that worried him.

“He's more likely to punch him than question him,” Stevie answered. “I recommended to Director Carter that he'd be benched for this.”

Steve silently nodded once, acknowledging that it was a good idea, even though he knew it was always difficult to dismiss someone close to the event. With all things considered though, Natasha's words still rang in his ears as he glanced over towards her to see her eyes flickering back and forth between Peggy and their prisoner.

“James Buchanan Barnes?” Peggy's clear voice rang out.

“Present and accounted for, ma'am,” the man stated back, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Some people call me Bucky, but I think that name's been taken by my counterpart here, Miss Margaret Carter, or 'Peggy' as you usually go with. World War Two veteran? You certainly look the part of a vet – all cold steel nerves and steely-eyed missile woman.”

“Christ, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he heard his counterpart mutter.

“Why are you here, Mr. Barnes?” Peggy asked, ignoring the question.

“To prevent an agent of the Red Skull from obtaining the Cosmic Cube,” Barnes answered, the sarcasm still present as Steve saw him smile in an unkind manner. It reminded him a little too much of the same initial demeanor that James had had within his role as a HYDRA agent. “But it looks like I failed. No thanks in part to your agents, Carter.”

“And why is that?” she continued to press, folding her hands in front of her and resting them on the table.

There was nothing except for a seriousness in her eyes – as if every single jab that this James Barnes sitting in front of her was inflicting rolled off of her with no harm. Had there not been an unease, or sense of worry from just watching this unfold, it would have sounded like the strange barbs that he remembered the two trading in his reality. But this... this was difficult to watch – difficult for him to swallow, yet he knew he had to: to get the same answers that Natasha also wanted.

“Steve,” his counterpart unexpectedly spoke up. “Why don't you take a walk? Clear you head a little?”

He shook his head. As much as he appreciated the suggestion to leave, his want for answers kept his resolve strong. “I'm fine, Stevie,” he answered.

“That wasn't a suggestion, Captain,” she stated, putting the same authority that he used himself behind her voice.

He glanced over at her, but she was not looking at him, and was focused on the two people beyond the one-way window. “Yes, ma'am,” he answered, taking a step back and walked out of the room. He knew why he was being ordered out of the room, and he was not going to hold it against his counterpart for making it an order.

Out in the halls, he looked around, seeing a scattered few SHIELD agents in uniform heading to wherever their destination was in this underground base. Seeing that there was nowhere else for him to go, he headed towards the cafeteria. Entering it, there were three others sitting scattered at the tables, and the cook station was closed. He did see a familiar face, among the three and to his relief, Clint raised his mug, indicating that he was welcome to join him.

Going over to the small area where several thermoses that contained coffee were, he poured himself a cup and joined the archer at his table. “Kate didn't want to take the dog this time?” he asked, careful to not step on the dog that looked like a Golden Retriever mixed with another type. From what little he knew about Strike Echo, other than they were the strangest Strike team he had ever seen – consisting of a two-person group and the dog, Kate Bishop, the leader of the team, usually traveled with the dog everywhere.

“She's on a double-date with some dude, Daisy, and Lincoln upside,” Clint stated, taking a sip before leaning down and patting the dog on the head.

Steve dropped a hand down, letting the dog sniff him and get comfortable before allowing him to pet him. “So, dog sitter then?” he asked, righting himself after a few moments as the dog returned to resting his head on his front paws.

“Pretty much, though by default, Lucky here is my dog. He just likes to follow Kate around.”

“Lucky?” he asked. “I thought you said the dog's name was PizzaDog?”

“He likes pizza a little too much, so I sometimes call him that. He also likes stealing pizza from unsuspecting people,” Clint stated, smiling into his cup before looking back up. “You got booted out by Director Carter as well? I saw Bucky stomping around all angry-like a few minutes ago. Don't know where he went, if you're looking for him.”

“Stevie kicked me out,” he said, taking sip of the coffee, savoring the taste of it, even though it was quite weak. Caffeine did nothing for him, but it had been a very long time since he had tasted the beverage. Good coffee, not the tinny-tasting ones that Sam brewed with the camping tin they had, was a rare treat for all of them since the four of them had begun living off the grid. “Not looking for James at the moment, so mind if I stay here?”

“Dude, I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't, Steve,” Clint answered before chuckling for a moment. “Jeez, you're just like Stevie – all polite and all that shit. Both of you gotta learn to relax and not be so uptight.”

“Trying to, but it's difficult,” he said, sighing as he waffled the cup in between his hands for a moment. “At least right now, it's difficult to relax.”

“Yeah, I understand, man,” the archer answered. “And if you haven't heard it from Bucky or others yet, you did good at the gala. Despite the clusterfuck it turned into, you did good.”

“Thanks,” he stated, taking another sip. “But I did get tagged by a tracker--”

“Hey, not your fault,” Clint interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “Faustus was bad news – had always been bad news. We're just lucky he only planted trackers and nothing else.”

“You guys ran into him before?” Steve asked, curious. He didn't know if there was a Dr. Faustus in his reality, but it wouldn't hurt to get some more knowledge about the strange doctor.

“Budapest. Indirectly,” Clint stated, putting his cup down. “Bucky and I were running point on that mission. Daisy was the neophyte agent on that, so Bobbi and Monty were assigned to watch and assist her. We were going after one of HYDRA's suppliers named Madam Masque. Long story short, the two of us got caught, and needed the other three to bail us out. It was a trap for Daisy and the others, and the only way out was for one of us to drink a weird concoction that Masque's goons had brought in.”

“Bucky drank it without hesitation. Masque let Daisy and the others go, and allowed herself to be 'captured' by us. Turns out, Faustus had hypnotized Masque to carry out those orders. That's also when we first heard his name. That shit that Bucky drank was Faustus's own variant of the super-soldier formula with an added ‘bonus’. It was supposed to make it easier for Faustus to brainwash or control him, except that it didn't even work – it poisoned him. A full course of blood transfusion was the only way to save him. Before the whole Fitz creating the hybrid formula, we suspected that Faustus had been working on the super-soldier serum with additional benefits. He was trying to replicate Dr. Erskine's work.”

The archer sighed before rubbing the back of his head, saying, “So yeah... it's a damn good thing that he only tagged the two of you.”

“Too many people tried to replicate the formula in my reality,” Steve quietly stated. “Too many good men and women suffered or died because of it as well.”

The silence that hung in the air was uncomfortable, but fortunately, it did not linger as Clint suddenly asked, “Do you think that guy in the Iron Man-like Captain America suit is a super-soldier?”

“I don't know,” he answered, shaking his head slightly.

“Dammit,” Clint whispered his curse into his cup. “Just when you think everything is all right in the world and you think you know a great guy, then bam! This shit happens.”

Steve forced himself to take another sip. Were it any other situation, he would have halfheartedly admonished Clint for using such vulgar language, but at the moment, he didn't care. He needed to hear it raw, and the archer was doing a fine job expressing both of their frustrations at the moment.

Footsteps approaching them caused both of them to look up, as Steve saw his counterpart sit down at the table next to him on the left. “Taking a break?” he asked, pushing his half-filled mug of coffee over towards her.

“No, we're done. We're not getting anything out of him. Peggy's tried every single psychological trick in the book to get him to talk, but no joy. She's going to figure out what to do next, so we should have a briefing soon,” Stevie stated, looking both mentally and physically tired. She took a sip of the coffee but then put it back down, making a face. “No alcohol.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” an unexpected voice said from above them.

Steve couldn't help but raise his eyebrow ever so slightly as he did not hear James enter the cafeteria, much less even hear him approach. A rather large bottle of whisky – expensive looking whisky – was thumped down between the three of them, along with two glasses. James took a seat on Stevie's left, opening the bottle and pouring a rather overly generous amount in the two glasses and in Steve's mug before handing the bottle over to Clint. Clint being Clint, poured enough whisky to fill what was left for open space the cup to the brim.

Stevie didn't even wait for Clint to finish and downed her glass in one gulp before gesturing for Clint to hand the bottle over, while simultaneously pushing Steve's mug of coffee mixed with whisky back towards him. Steve took a few sips, noting that while it tasted good, the alcohol burned away quite fast and didn't even give him a heady feeling.

“Uh... Stevie, I thought neither you or Steve here could get drunk?” Clint asked, handing the bottle back and taking a few sips of his violently unbalanced mixture of whisky and coffee.

“It's the taste,” Stevie stated, downing her glass again.

“So before I get drunk off my ass on this expensive-looking whisky, what happened?”

“In addition to blowing our covers, he was actually here to steal the Tesseract. No details as to why. The Red Skull agent he tried to shoot just got to it first,” Stevie stated, staring at her glass but did not fill it back up with whisky. “He told us that he has a way of tracking the operative, but he wasn't interested in sharing the data with us. That means that the operative is still here, and hasn't jumped realities yet. Peggy tried to negotiate an alliance, but that was shot down.”

“Is he a super-soldier?” James quietly asked, as Steve glanced over to see him pushing his glass around with his fingers.

Stevie shook her head. “Peggy doesn't want to risk a medical team to do an assessment. I mean, we know that even the strongest tranq won't down me, so she isn't keen on tranquilizing him, just to confirm it. We got guards and sensors monitoring that room, but Peggy's ordered no one to enter it or remove the dog tags that he has--”

“He still has those dog tags?!” Clint exclaimed. “Uh... considering what we've seen what that suit can do...”

“He's been cooperating, Clint,” Steve intervened. “Intransigent on the questions, but relatively cooperative.”

“He's evaluating us as we are him, Steve,” Natasha's unexpected voice spoke up, as she took a seat next to Clint. She took one look at the mug of unequal coffee-to-alcohol ratio and made a face, before saying in a more serious tone, “I’m nintey-nine percent certain that he's the Winter Soldier of his reality, but I can’t tell yet if he’s under someone’s control or not. What this Barnes is employing – it's standard Red Room protocol to play along. Resist and misdirect when possible.”

“Play along?” Steve asked, looking slightly horrified.

Natasha was silent for a few long moment before gesturing for Clint to hand his mug over to her. She took a sip before passing it back, and folded her hands together. “This is not Bucky, Steve. This is not the Winter Soldier you think you know. This man is the Winter Soldier of his reality, and a highly trained operative. He crossed over realities for something – whether or not it is actually for the Tesseract, or even to hunt down this Red Skull operative – is debatable. We need to be careful here, because at the moment, it's extremely difficult to tell whether he's friend or foe. What Director Carter is doing at the moment, is the only thing we can do for now.”

“Sit and try to find that Tesseract as soon as we can, and hope that we don't have a ticking time bomb in the interrogation room, waiting to go off,” James finished up in a solemn tone.

* * *

_Later..._

 

“I was wondering when you'd show up, Romanov.”

Though Barnes's stance in leaning against the brick wall – doused half in shadow from the lights in the hall – looked casual to the passerby, Natasha was not fooled. That stance screamed a predator ready to pounce, and to anyone who crossed him, prey – even though there had been no sign of anyone walking these parts of the underground base for the past two hours. She knew that she was not 'prey' to Barnes though, not like she had been to her reality's Barnes when he had been the Winter Soldier. Yet, the way that this Barnes held himself continued to fascinate her.

This Barnes was intriguing, as she wondered if the officer was wholly aware that he was mimicking her reality's Barnes's movements. She did not feel like asking, mainly because it was a rather oddly delightful puzzle for her to work out. Firstly, had this Barnes cultivated the movement and stance of a highly trained intelligence agent-assassin on his own, or subconsciously developed it after watching and interacting with her reality's Barnes? Secondly, did he only perform such actions in front of her because he knew that it would make her more comfortable working with him?

She had never seen him move, linger in the shadows, or otherwise quietly 'sneak' around when in the presence of Steve or Steve's counterpart. Around either Rogers, Barnes was more restrained, more tolerant of shortcomings and faults, and more... open and caring. That was both an influence from either Rogers and the want to do better, and from Barnes's own personality. Away from the light though... Natasha's gut felt more trusting of Barnes in the shadows than anything else.

“Sleep is important,” she stated, deciding to be facetious, rather than anything else.

The edge of Barnes's lips twitched up in a brief, humorous smile as he pushed himself off the wall and turned to place a hand on the panel. It lit up green before rising to reveal the keypad. He punched in an alpha-numeric code and the door to the other side of the interrogation slid open. Following him in, she saw him approach the one-way window, but did not flip the switch as she thought he would do.

“He seems to respond better to you, Romanov,” Barnes stated, giving her a look as he leaned against the wall, next to the switch.

She merely raised an eyebrow at him before stepping up. “Anyone ever tell you that you're lazier than you look?”

His bark of laughter was the only answer, but he knew that she was not serious about that accusation. It had not escaped her notice either that since that gala-auction rooftop battle, their prisoner had been extremely skittish around Steve, Steve's counterpart, and Director Carter. The only persons or person that other-Barnes – she mentally labeled their prisoner – had even answered in a slightly not-so-hostile fashion was towards her. That told her that this other-Barnes had some sort of rapport, friendship, or otherwise friendly relationship with her counterpart in another reality.

Natasha flipped the switch to lighten the one-way mirror so that the man who claimed to be another reality's James Buchanan Barnes could see her. The man was still seated at the table and had put his head down on his arms to rest. A plastic cup of water and a tray of food had been partially touched, but the lights in the interrogation room had not been dimmed all that much.

There was an immediate reaction from him, as she saw him raise his head up. “Natalia,” she heard him begin to say, an unusual softness in his tone.

His accent in pronouncing her alias in the Russian nomenclature was impeccable, and further cemented her theory that this other-Barnes most likely had been the Winter Soldier in his reality. Whether he still was, was the lingering question, as the variant of the Captain America uniform that had emerged from the dog tags otherwise pointed it to be false.

“Is my counterpart there with you?” other-Barnes questioned, though it sounded more like a statement than question.

Natasha flicked her eyes over towards Barnes, who merely shrugged and stepped up and away from the wall. Barnes took a couple of steps behind her and positioned himself next to her left, arms crossed over his chest. It was not in her nature to continue to deceive, not when it was made abundantly clear that deceiving any James Barnes could not be done.

“Your suit,” she began. “It reminds me of something that Iron Man would wear, except not as patriotic.”

“The suit's HUD showed me the minute vibration frequency differences between you and the others here,” other-Barnes stated, giving her a mirthless smile. “Someone would have had to let you in, and he--” other-Barnes nodded towards his counterpart “--was the most logical choice.”

“That's more words and a hell of a lot better explanation that you've put together in the past minute than the hours you've been sitting here,” Barnes stated. “Tell you what, Mister, let's skip the sob story and twenty-questions. You want the Tesseract, we want the Tesseract. I just want to know why do you want it and what you're going to do with it – and spare me the bullshit about how we're winning the war here. You don't _know_ what we've been through, so don't take that fucking high road with me. Or Romanov.”

“You're right, I don't,” the man stated. “But rather than have SHIELD chase after every small organization and scattered ally of HYDRA, you could end your war with one fell swoop.”

“Is that what you think?!” Barnes hissed, unfolding his arms and jabbing an accusatory finger out towards the hall. “You think you did us a fucking favor?! You think that fighting one entity, one hell of an organized force is the only way to win?! Listen _pal_ , we're not like you! Your fancy gadgets, your Iron Man-like armor in all of that red-white-blue glory—“

“ _You_ don't need the Tesseract,” Natasha said, as she realized something while watching both of them and their reactions. “In fact, you don't want it. But you're under orders to bring it back. Why?”

She didn't give either of them a chance to answer as she leaned slightly toward, tapping and tracing the glass briefly with a finger, continuing to say, “Why do you keep calling it a Cosmic Cube?”

“Because it's not a Tesseract,” other-Barnes stated, seemingly taking no offense or reacting to his counterpart's angry accusations. “It's just a simple alien power source that the Red Skull in my reality wants. It doesn't contain the fourth dimension – the spacetime dimension – that is needed to make it a true Tesseract.”

“Let me guess,” Barnes said, folding his arms over his chest again. “Your _suit_ told you that.”

“That and listening to Stark talk about the differences between a Tesseract and a Cosmic Cube for hours upon end, yes,” the man stated, not giving into the bait that was laid out before him.

Natasha saw Barnes open his mouth again to rip his counterpart a new one, but before he could, she sharply stated, “Captain. Enough. He's cooperating.”

Barnes glared at her, but she brushed it off as if she were brushing a rather annoying gnat to the side. She knew that she had taken the wind out of his argument that was beginning to border on snide and petty. Considering the line that Barnes had been taking, it was not a large wonder that due to their uncanny similarities, her reality's Barnes and Steve's childhood of constantly fighting bullies – courtesy of the Smithsonian, naturally – was true.

She also managed to suppress the smirk as she saw the tiniest, subtle hand motion that spoke in short hand, from other-Barnes. Not only did it silently confirm that other-Barnes was the Winter Soldier of his reality, it also told her that he had most likely suffered a similar fate to her reality's Winter Soldier – Red Room and all. The hand signals were nearly the same, as she understood that he was complaining that he had never realized just how immature he had been.

“And what did he just say, Romanov?”

[ _Oops, caught._ ] she deliberately gestured in a rather grandiose fashion right back at the man sitting in the interrogation room before turning to Barnes. “Red Room signals, Barnes. This reality's James Barnes had been telling the truth all along. Codenamed Winter Soldier in his reality... fought in World War Two?”

“Fought and died,” other-Barnes stated, nodding once. “Revived by the Soviets... but your reality had someone similar, correct, Natalia?”

She merely raised her eyebrows for a moment, neither confirming or denying anything about her reality. When it came to spy versus spy versus spy in this room with the three of them, even her 'alliance' with Barnes was not a guarantee for the safety of her reality. “Care to tell us the real reason why you've been tasked to retrieve this 'Cosmic Cube'?”

The man sitting before them was silent for a long moment before quietly saying, “What little I know is that the Red Skull has a weapon that needs the power of seven Cosmic Cubes. He sent seven operatives to dimensions that have the Cubes, and I was tasked to stop the operative sent here. I'd rather destroy it than let it even remain in existence, because no one should be building or using a weapon that harnesses the power of the Cubes.”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” Barnes stated, frowning. “We just witnessed a demonstration of an invasion with your rally cry at that auction. Turning the masses on us didn't help you one bit. You had the rifle, you could have destroyed it right then and there.”

“I don't deal in mass destruction or collateral damage anymore,” the man growled. “It would have vaporized the entire hall and a least a half-block radius, if I had shot it.”

“So then why does Stark, your reality's Tony Stark I'm presuming, want it? Why did he order you to retrieve it?” Natasha intervened before yet another argument could break out between the two Barnes.

She was getting a little irritated that she was playing interference between the two to get some useful information out of this other reality's Barnes. If this was what it had been like between her reality's Barnes and this reality's Barnes when Steve had last been here... well, she was quite glad to not have been present. It felt like she was herding and separating cats on the verge of attacking each other, window between them be damned.

“Keeping it here would just invite further attempts by the Skull to send more and more operatives into this reality,” Barnes explained. “You want to save this reality and concentrate on your war with your HYDRA, either destroy the Cube or let me take it back. Skull has the tech to scan realities and a jury-rigged way to send people across realities. But he doesn't have the power to sustain a wormhole for a full-blown invasion force. At least not yet.”

“At least not yet for the intelligence you or whatever agents Stark, you, and others have collected,” Barnes stated. “SHIELD?”

The smile that other-Barnes gave both of them was humorless as he said, “SHIELD. That is a name I had not heard for such a long time. I'll be honest, I was surprised given what I learned about this reality's history, that SHIELD had lasted as long as it had.”

She saw him shake his head once, looking down at the table while continuing to say, “SHIELD no longer exists in my reality. There hasn't been any semblance of it for over a decade. The East and West Coast Avengers are gone, Invaders extinct, Xavier’s X-men… Almost every single superhero organization who signed or did not sign that Act is dead. There are only a handful of us left fighting the 'good' fight, because the Red Skull used the Superhero Registration Act and systematically slaughtered every single person who signed it. Then he hunted the rest of us 'rebels' down like dogs.”

Those eyes of his snapped back up, and though Natasha rarely felt a thrill of fear run through her, she felt it as acutely in this instance. It briefly froze her to the spot, as she had first done so, trapped in the Helicarrier with a transforming Bruce Banner.

Frosty, cold, killer-like eyes pinned her to the spot as the man on the other side of the glass growled, “ _Don't_ give me your sob story about how much of an underdog your SHIELD is, Captain Barnes, because trust me, this reality is a fucking paradise.”

“What's to prevent your Red Skull from sending agents into her reality then?” Barnes surprisingly asked, his tone and expression calm and controlled, as Natasha saw him jerk a thumb at her.

She saw other-Barnes take a deep breath, calming himself before saying, “Natalia's reality has a true Tesseract. The suit picked up lingering traces of gamma radiation, which according to what I remember of Stark's rants, is indicative of a creation of a spacetime portal. There is no Cosmic Cube in her reality, at least not yet. The Red Skull will not target it yet.”

“Steve did say that the Tesseract did either melt or transport the Red Skull of our reality somewhere else,” Natasha murmured, glancing over at Barnes, who now wore a frown on his face, and had unfolded his arms from across his chest.

“Why don't you want to work with us to recover this Cosmic Cube, Barnes?” Barnes asked, leaning forward, and using a forearm to brace himself against the window. “It would be pointless to argue right now, the 'who gets what' when it's recovered. We have resources here that would be able to help you trace whatever tracer you placed on that operative. Considering what we've faced in New York, going solo is suicide. However fucking messed up you seem to be in the head, you're in much better mental shape than another Barnes that I know.”

“Get off your high horse--”

“I'm not done yet, soldier.”

Natasha blinked in surprise, not because of what Barnes had said, but the fact that there was a command quality, of a sternness and steadiness that she had never heard or seen before. The man standing to her left had not changed his stance at all, was still leaning against the glass, but the demeanor was completely different. This was the leader – the one to take up the fallen flag if the man in front fell – and rally the people to continue to fight. It was similar to the 'command presence' that Steve exuded at times, yet different.

Whereas Steve and what she knew of Steve's counterpart, led with a warmth and surge of hope – the aspiration of what it meant to be a good military officer – Barnes here led with the cold, tactical precision that promised a pinpoint strike to kill without mercy. The presence and styles were on opposite sides of the same coin, and she realized that she was now seeing just _how_ this reality's Barnes became an officer.

“You have a problem with the chain of command, soldier,” Barnes continued. “Twice now, you've stated that you'd rather destroy the Cube than let anyone else have it. Stark's orders to you were to bring it back intact, and you're not truly willing to defy that order. That suit you wear, courtesy of Stark, marks you as your reality's Captain America. Truth, justice, freedom – everything that Captain America stands for is something you aren't willing to break. Something happen to your reality's Rogers, because as sure as I know both Stephanie and Steven Rogers, neither of them would ever give up that call sign, no matter what. So I'm going to assume that your reality's Rogers died.”

“You said that for ten years, the Red Skull killed all of your friends and acquaintances. You had ten years to get off your ass and disobey, but what was the last straw for you, Barnes? What is changing your mind now? People don't get desperate as their numbers diminish, they get desperate because their loved ones are no longer there to be their north star. So tell me, soldier, what is your reason for finally going against your orders?”

If it were any other person sitting at that interrogation table, Natasha knew that he or she would have exploded in anger. Wounding the pride of a soldier was anything but a delicate minefield that was usually not tread on, but it seemed that Barnes knew his audience quite well. Even in the decade of fighting the Red Skull, living through whatever had been done to him as the Winter Soldier in his reality, and fighting and dying in the Second World War, this other-Barnes seemed to keep eerily calm.

“Natalia… my Natalia was killed while enroute with supplies scavenged from what was left of Wakanda,” other-Barnes stated, flicking his eyes over towards her for a moment before settling back on Barnes. “One of the items she had recovered was a Cosmic Cube. The same agent that Skull sent to retrieve this Cosmic Cube was the same one who killed her.”

“And eye for an eye,” Natasha muttered, as her suspicions were confirmed.

“But that's not why you don't want to work with us, soldier,” Barnes stated. “You know it’s a suicide mission to confront the operative, considering how many enemies she threw at us on the rooftop and at the safe house. So even if we say we'll let you have the Cube, why won't you let us help?”

“Tell me if you can pull the trigger point blank on your Director Carter,” other-Barnes stated with absolutely certainty. “Because that is who the Skull made the LMD operative look like.”

“Carter is dead in my reality,” Natasha spoke up, keeping her tone conversational, even though she knew that to even get a chance to get this Barnes to cooperate, they would have to tell the others what had just been revealed. “I think I'm capable of shooting her dead.”

“I don't doubt that,” other-Barnes stated, acknowledging her outright statement of skills that would have sounded absolutely arrogant in front of others that were not them.

“Then why didn't you tell Director Carter out right earlier?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “The longer that LMD is running around in this world, the worse it will get for SHIELD--”

“Hell in a hand box!” Barnes interrupted, standing up right, hands curling into fists. “You're a fucking piece of work! You know that, Barnes?! Siccing the allies of HYDRA on a LMD of Peggy Carter, with her forces fighting HYDRA... goddammit. You do want our help, but only at a certain point in time. We go in now, we fuck up the illusion.”

“The LMD will eventually try to find a place to lie low and gather enough power to broadcast a signal that will carry across realities,” the operative-agent stated, inclining his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment of what his counterpart had finally figured out. “I suspect that Skull is continually sweeping for such a signal, and will open a portal for her to return.”

“There's not enough personnel or equipment to cover the entire world, or transport a team to the site the minute a signal is confirmed,” Natasha pointed out, glancing over at Barnes. “How long does it take to build a signal, and does your suit have the capacity to monitor for that?”

“Yes and no,” other-Barnes stated. “I also suspect that she may have been transported here with other types of forces that could possibly provide the necessary power. Problem is, I don't know what they are, and where she might have kept them in reserve--”

“Why didn't you just outright tell Director Carter this in the beginning?” Barnes interrupted. “It would've save us a hell of a lot of time and shit like this happening.”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” the other man stated, giving his counterpart a sardonic smile. “Would you have trusted anything or anyone around you in a world that you don't even fucking know, much less have lived in?”

“He's got you there, Captain,” Natasha stated, smirking ever so slightly as she couldn't help but agree with other-Barnes's statement.

“Romanov--” Barnes began, giving her a slightly irritated look that was completely wiped away as a noise that was a cross between a howling yell and blood-curdling scream echoed down the hall. It penetrated even the thick walls and doors in both rooms, as out of the corner of her eyes, she saw other-Barnes sit up straighter than usual.

“What the hell--?”

Natasha didn't which Barnes had made that statement as she had already turned around, hurrying to the door. She knew who had made that sound, and she knew that it was only going to get worse from here on out. She had thought – Sam, Wanda, and her had all thought – had _hoped_ that by being here, seeing different but similar friends again, that it would be a soothing balm against the mental storm that roiled within their friend and leader's mind.

“Steve,” she couldn't help but murmur as she emerged from the room and ran down the hall as fast as she could. She hoped that she would be able to find a way to stop whatever nightmare that gripped Steve's dreams, before it could consume him again.

* * *

_Reality: Avengers Earth (MCU)_

_Wakanda_

 

The screams were still echoing in his head, no matter how many times he had put together and taken apart the housing for the intricate gearing system for the cuckoo clock in the last hour. Bucky glared at the pieces that had been taken apart by him, resisting the urge to throw the small screwdriver in his hand, away. Instead, he forced himself to place the screwdriver down, and leaned back.

Two notebooks from his journals laid open on top of the pile on the workbench. A partially filled blank page in one of the two journals had been violently crossed out, while the other had tiny notes and other details written on the margins. The pen that had been in one of the notebooks had been thrown across the room with enough force to embed itself into the wall.

He sighed, and picked up the tool again, using his ring finger and pinky to balance it, before using his other three fingers in a claw-like fashion to set out and balance two walls of the housing. He then took the tiny screw that fit into the housing and carefully slotted it into the hole joining the two sides. Angling his hand so that the screwdriver connected with the screw, he use his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger to hold the corners together and twisted the screwdriver ever so slightly to let the bit bite into the hole for two revolutions.

As soon as that was finished, he then transferred the screwdriver to a more natural fit in his hand and began to continue to wind the screw in. Automatically, or rather because he was still frustrated enough that he didn't care at this point in the insomnia that gripped him, Bucky hit the button to silence the chime of an incoming communique from his counterpart. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the holographic 3D image of his counterpart appear, but continued working on putting together the housing.

“Nightmare?” his counterpart asked.

“Hürtgen Forest,” Bucky answered.

Silence fell between them, which was not odd and was the usual default whenever they talked, but a part of him, even in the grips of the screams that wouldn't go away, his frustration at his inability to sleep properly, and the damn cuckoo clock that did nothing to help him at the moment, found the silence odd. He would have thought that his counterpart contacting him now was going to say that whatever mission his counterpart had requested Romanov for, had been completed.

“Steve has been having nightmares.”

Bucky had been concentrating so hard on the cuckoo clock, trying to drive away the echoing, blood-curdling screams from his nightmare, that his counterpart's unexpected words did not even register within his mind until a few seconds later. At once, an avalanche of memories, different from the ones that kept him up, flooded him.

Those memories spoke of the times in which he heard Steve grumbling in his sleep about trying to get away from bullies, or the despairing groans he sometimes heard whenever the Howling Commandos camped away from SSR Headquarters. All of them though, had him there to place a reassuring, calming hand on either Steve's forehead or shoulder – to let him know in silence that there was nothing to fear. How long had it been since he had last done that?

His work on the cuckoo clock slowed down as the memories continued to flood him, until he found himself staring at the table. “How long?” he quietly asked.

“Romanov said that its been on and off for the better part of a few months. Seemed to have become more frequent since his return from your reality's 1984. She's taken to gagging him at times, just so he doesn't bite through his tongue. Can't do anything about the noise though.”

Bucky finally glanced up and over towards the 3D projection of his counterpart, feeling his lone hand curl up into a fist as he gritted his teeth. He saw his counterpart run a hand through his hair, briefly looking at least a decade or two older than he was. Whatever his counterpart had witnessed had seemingly mentally aged him, as he remembered doing the same gesture whenever he could not tuck away the horrors of what he had just witnessed during the war.

“He doesn't remember his nightmares when he wakes up. At least he claims not to. What did you or the other Commandos do to help him through this, in the field?” his counterpart asked.

Bucky briefly looked away, eyes crinkling slightly as he tried to will away the images of his memories from a more harrowing time in his and Steve's lives. “He didn't have nightmares back then,” he answered. “He had bad dreams. We all did, but it wasn't full blown screaming that kept everyone up.”

He could only imagine that what used to be either grumbles or groans from childhood and the war, had escalated into screaming – what he now suffered from if he managed to wake himself up. Steve was going through the same thing. His hand, curled so tightly that he barely registered that his knuckles were starkly white against his skin, didn't want to uncurl. He couldn't help Steve – not right now, not even if he wanted so desperately to--

“You need to tell him that you're doing better.”

He looked up; the blunt statement slamming into the wall of his guilt like a cement truck. “No,” he almost snarled the word. “We're both now suffering from nightmares. That does not qualify as 'better', _pal_.”

He knew that he needed to stay away – could not be there to silently say 'It will get better', because it sure wasn't getting any better for him. He was a mess – an unstable, insomniac mess who couldn't barely function at all whenever he himself was gripped in his own nightmares. He needed to hold onto who he was at the moment, because it was all that he felt held back the monster within him. Couldn't his counterpart _see_ that?

“Stop being a coward,” he heard his counterpart state. “You're both going through shit right now that's got a lot of people worried. Romanov and the others on his team, they can only do so much for him. They haven't seen the shit both of you've seen and done during the war. If my Director Carter's stories about the war are anything to go by, I'm betting that Steve is reliving whatever battles you're living through – including Hürtgen Forest. _You_ need to be there for him.”

“And do what?” Bucky shot back, growing angrier at the incessant cajoling.

“Talk to him. Help him get through this. We only needed Romanov for a mission here. We didn't want Steve to be here, but fuck if I know what's happened to him since he's returned from 1984. He insisted on coming here. He said being in this reality was a _vacation_ , goddammit--”

And then it hit him: this was not cajoling – this was his counterpart venting his own frustration and inability to do anything to help Steve. Steve had voluntarily gone with Romanov on Romanov's mission, and his counterpart had not been allowed allowed to do anything, or stop Steve from crossing—someone on that side had _caused_ this.

“What aren't you telling me, Captain?” he asked, nearly growling his words.

“There's a mission we're about the execute. I'll leave the data packet and details with those at the silo, but suffice to say, there may be a potential snag associated with the mission. It's something that we can work around, but we could use your help – specifically with your skill set. You don't even have to announce your presence to the team, or even let Steve know you're there. It would be a simple in-and-out for you.”

There it was, an indirect request for help from his counterpart. It was a way to preserve the secrecy between them, to allow him to assist Steve and preserve his sense of self. Yet, he was still suspicious, as he knew his counterpart – his mirror however not-cracked that mirror was. “What _else_ aren't you telling me?” he asked.

“We encountered another reality traveler,” his counterpart answered. “I suspect that this traveler is having some undue, negative influence on Steve, but I'm not allowed to do anything about it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, nearly scoffing as he found it a little difficult to believe that excuse. If his counterpart's reaction to his and Steve's 'reality crossing' over a year ago to that reality was anything to speak of, it stood that his counterpart usually did what he wanted, orders be damned. “Allowed? Since when the hell did you ever obey orders? Who the hell is this traveler?”

“Need to know. It'll be in the packet at the silo.”

He stared at him for a long moment. It took massive guts to say something like that, considering what they knew about each other. He wanted to state that if his counterpart actually expected him to fall for that kind of bait, he was sorely mistaken. Nevertheless, Bucky could not shake the pull of anonymously helping Steve. The pull to just outright drag his best friend back to this reality so that whatever 'negative influence' was weighing on him no longer did so, also weighed in.

Instead, he fired back with, “Let me guess: this traveler fucked up your mission that you requested Romanov for.”

He knew that Romanov would never tolerate anyone, including Steve, messing up her missions. It was not just in her nature to, which made her the best – in his opinion – Black Widow that the Soviets had ever produced.

“Long story short, we've 'enlisted' the traveler's help in this upcoming mission.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes ever so slightly – the clues were there, but he was not quite convinced of his own assumptions as to who the 'reality traveler' was. Yet, if he was correct in his silent assumption... “So then why the hell do you need me?” he asked.

“You're a super-soldier with a very specific skill set. You figure it out,” his counterpart stated before he saw him reach over and abruptly disconnect the transmission.

Resisting the urge to immediately reactivate the device, he instead, settled for glaring at it. The more he stared at it though, the more his anger and frustration grew. He knew that it was partially his fault that Steve suffered from nightmares now, yet the future of two worlds had to be preserved. Was that not what they were first and foremost – soldiers willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good – their own sanity and mental health be damned?

He remembered telling Steve that they were going to go home together after the war; to make sure that they survived to go home. At the same time, he knew that it was a bitter promise – Steve's Good Samaritan complex drove him to help those who needed help, and Bucky... well, protecting Steve was something that he could not – had not – resisted not doing. Steve was right when he had called him 'a winter soldier', but that also applied conversely to his best friend. They were soldiers first and foremost--

“God- _fucking_ -dammit,” he softly swore as he stood up and made his way to the main room to get something to drink – anything really, because his thoughts were becoming circuitous again.

He didn't even make it one step into the main room as the monument to all of his sins – the casing that contained the metal arm – caught his eyes. It silently screamed at him, urging him to go forth and accept the mission, and he found that he could not resist it's pull. Walking over to it, he lifted it up and took the three steps to turn around and place it on the dining table with a resounding thud.

Opening the latches, he flung it open and the gleaming blue-silver sheen, reflected only in the moonlight streaming in from the slivers of his drawn curtains, stared up at him. It didn't laugh at him like the shield laughed at him, as he had expected it to. It just sat there, silent, expectant, and waiting.

_Stop being a coward!_

“Sometimes, I really hate you, counterpart of mine,” he muttered into the silence, before reaching over and taking the arm, marrying it to the implant. Glancing over towards his workbench in the other room, as he flexed the metal hand, feeling the reactive circuits respond to his mental commands. Steeling himself, he returned to that room and stood before the communications device, staring at it for a few moments.

“It's always the darkest just before dawn, Steve,” he murmured, reaching over and flipping the switch to activate the other line – a direct line to a certain someone in Wakanda who would be able to bring him to the Siberian silo.

 

~*~*~*~


	7. Memory: сумеречный

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**сумеречный** _

_ Year: _ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Dusk, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

It was not the hooting of the owl, which he had heard exactly three seconds earlier that snapped him awake, but rather the almost not-heard crackle of something stepping through dried out leaves on the forest floor. Bucky's grip on his rifle tighten ever so slightly as he opened his eyes and took a quick look around without moving his head. His sniper rifle was still settled beside him as the faint crunch of leaves was heard again.

[ _It's only a rabbit._ ]

Steve, lying beside him on this hill in an off beaten path, had tapped the message out in rapid Morse code on his shoulder. It wasn't that neither of them could speak out loud, but the fact that beyond the hill the two of them were situated at, was a nest of HYDRA soldiers guarding the entrance to the base. To speak out loud at this point in time was going to jeopardize the mission that the Howling Commandos were on. They had to wait until the agreed upon time – when Jones and the others were ready to begin their attack on the other side of the HYDRA base.

The leaves faintly crunched again, and this time a little closer and more audible. From where he was lying, Bucky saw the rabbit that Steve had identified slowly hop by. Hearing nothing else except for the hooting of the owl again, he slowly uncurled his fingers from their tight grip around his rifle. It took him a while to relax again, but sleep was still elusive.

He glanced over half-expecting Steve to be soundly asleep but still alert for any noise. To his surprise, he saw his best friend lying awake, staring up into the forest canopy – and beyond that, the cloudy night skies. In profile, Bucky thought he saw an almost contemplative look on Steve's face, and wondered what he was thinking about.

Not a moment later, Steve turned his head ever so slightly, glancing over at him. Even in the darkness, Bucky's eyes were well-adjusted enough that he saw a slight smile split Steve's lips. Seconds later, he felt the rapid tapping of Morse code on his right hand from Steve's left hand.

[ _I spy, with my little eye--_ ]

[ _Oh, hell no--_ ] he answered in the same fashion, accidentally tangling their fingers together for a moment.

[ _Come on, Bucky..._ ] Steve pleaded, as he saw Steve's expression take on a more pouty, puppy-eyed look that he knew was just an exaggeration. [ _What else are we going to do for the hours until daybreak?_ ]

[ _Sleep? Attempt to sleep?_ ] he sarcastically suggested.

[ _Right._ ] Steve's succinct, equally sarcastic agreement was tapped out to him. [ _So, I spy, with my little eye--_ ]

Bucky sighed, audibly but low enough that even he could barely hear it himself. [ _Fine._ ]

[ _Something that begins with 'O'._ ]

[ _Owl?_ ] he guessed. It was the only thing he could think of that began with 'O' in the forest they were lying in.

[ _Yeah. There._ ] He saw Steve lift his left arm ever so slightly before pointing about thirty degrees above their lower horizon. Bucky followed his gesture and sure enough, there was the faintest outline of what looked like an owl perched on a branch.

[ _That's a really good eye you have there, Steve._ ] he complemented him. [ _Okay, my turn._ ]

Bucky looked around with only his eyes, daring not to shift or even move his head, so as to not make any sort of noise. Finally, he spotted something interesting and tapped out: [ _I spy, with my little eye, something that begins with 'B'._ ]

[ _B?_ ] Steve questioned, as Bucky caught his puzzled glance over at him before he saw him look back out into the forest, squinting ever so slightly. A half a minute later, he felt him tap out: [ _I'm not sure._ ]

Bucky grinned and raised his left arm, pointing in the same direction as where Steve had spotted the owl, except he pointed it a little to the right of the owl. [ _Baby owls._ ]

[ _Wha—oh. Awww, that's adorable._ ]

A wide smile had taken over Steve's lips as Bucky saw him crinkling his eyes at the area ever so slightly. He lowered his left arm, looking back at the trunk of the tree where the mother owl sat carefully watching her surroundings. Three tiny owls, almost silhouetted by the combined darkness, nest, and angle that both he and Steve were watching from, had poked their heads out of their nest.

[ _Either their mother is about to hunt, or she doesn't like HYDRA as next door neighbors. They probably exterminated all the mice with their weapons._ ]

It took all of his effort and then some to suppress the snort of laughter he wanted to expel in response to Steve's commentary. [ _Death via clawing by an angry, screechy owl. How embarrassing._ ]

It was another effort again, but now for both of them to not laugh out loud, as Bucky had to raise a hand to his mouth and bite down on his knuckles to prevent himself from laughing. He couldn't even glance over at Steve, who had performed a similar gesture, without a fit of laughter passing over him. As nervously harrowing as the situation they were in, even lying side-by-side waiting to ambush HYDRA, there were still a few moments of pleasure and pleasant memories to be had.

Bucky took whatever he could for a modicum of time away from the reality of the war upon them, as he suspected that more terrible things were lying down the road ahead for both of them. The longer they remained here in Europe, the more death they would see. Despite him being able to tuck away his reaction to seeing and inflicting death, he knew that one day, a reckoning would come – for either him or Steve, or both, he didn't know.

Until then, all he could do was wait until dusk melted into nightfall, and for nightfall to bleed into daybreak.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**сумеречный** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random note: the memories Dusk (this story), Daybreak, and Seventeen (both from the first story) link together to form one full memory.


	8. морозилка (Freezer, re: Furnace)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 06 Jan 2019: During the briefing, Steve makes a minor reference to a mission in WWII that happens in Story 4: The Lines Like Dust. It’s not big enough to spoil that story – just something to whet appetites for future reading when it gets written.
> 
> Also, there seems to be some odd formatting issues between my cut/paste of the chapters, and my viewing in different browsers. Apologies for the strangeness - I'm not too sure how to fix it yet.

**Chapter 4: морозилка (Freezer, re: Furnace)**

 

“ _Hey, you gotta drink some water, Steve.”_

_Steve blearily blinked, feeling as if he were scraping sawdust over his eyes. He glanced up to see Bucky sitting by his bed, leaning slightly over with a cup of water in his hand. Steve felt as if his eyes were burning, and as if a giant wad of cotton had been stuffed in his head. Both a chill and fever seemed to envelop him as he wondered how long he had slept. Last he remembered seeing Bucky was evening...yesterday...today – he didn’t even know what day it was._

_He felt so weak, so tired that he couldn’t even find the strength to bring his hands out from under the cover to try to grasp the cup. “Can’t,” he hoarsely said, trying to wet his parched throat by swallowing once. It hurt to do so as he winced, unable to keep himself from showing his pain at such a simple action._

“ _Come on,” he heard him say at the same time the thump of the cup being set down somewhere close to him sounded a little too loud._

_Steve closed his eyes, feeling exhausted and hungry at the same time, but knew that it would cause him too much pain to eat what little he could stomach. Lancing pain shot across his shoulders and skittered like the sharp points of knives down his back. It was accompanied by a cascade of cold at once, caused him to whimper as he blinked open his eyes again. His vision shifted as he felt Bucky lift him up from lying down and into a slight sitting position – at least as far up as the headboard and the bunk above him would allow him to go._

“ _Sorry for taking over your bed,” he managed to croak out as he felt too tired from this fever that ravaged him, to even cry out in pain as he felt blankets being bundled around him._

_At twenty-two years of age, illnesses still seemed to knock him down as terribly as it used to when he had been a child. He had thought that getting older meant less bouts of sickness, but it seemed to be not true. He just felt guilty that it was now Bucky taking care of him, when it had been his mother when she had been alive._

_Feeling warmer than he had in a while, but still no less dizzy, he then felt the sharp cold press of a tin cup, along with chilly water touch his lips. Responding to the need for water, he tried to drink and swallow as fast and as much as he could even though it hurt to do so. Fortunately, Bucky’s cool hand on the back of his neck and shoulders, along with the steady tipping of the tin cup, ensured that he did not choke._

_When the cup finally ran dry, Steve found that he wanted more, but the cup was removed and placed down. Exhaustion nipped at him as he leaned back, seeing his vision swim side to side for a moment as he stared up to see Bucky turn from where he was crouching next to the bunk bed. Sunlight streamed through the tiny window in the room and from the main room’s window, and Steve realized that it was the middle of the day._

“ _S-shouldn’t you be at--” Steve began, before a sudden coughing fit overtook him. “At work?” he finished after his fit had subsided._

“ _Your health is more important than some job, Steve,” Bucky simply stated, as Steve saw him turn back around, with a folded damp towel in his hands._

_If he weren’t so feverish, weak, and feeling like he was at death’s door, he knew that he would have questioned the blunt statement. But he was too tired to do so, and thus left it alone. The towel was placed on his forehead, briefly enveloping him in a soothing blanket of relief as another chill over took him. He briefly felt Bucky’s fingers gently press on his right cheek and then the left._

_Turning his head slightly towards further relief from being burned up inside-out, he couldn’t help but murmur, “S’nice...please...stay...”_

_Cold fingers and palm, calloused from the years of physical labor, pressed together that acted just like the towel draped across his forehead remained against the left side of his face. He breathed out heavily, his eyes beginning to drift close as sleepiness began to creep back up at him. Another bout of chills shot through him, but Bucky’s hand remained where it was._

“ _Thank...you...” he quietly slurred as he tried to open his eyes to at least catch his best friend’s eyes one last time before he went back to sleep. He was afraid, always so afraid that every time he fell ill, it would be his last bout. He always felt like he was at death’s door whenever fighting an illness._

“ _Rest up Steve,” he heard Bucky’s calm, reassuring voice that sounded so warm, yet so far away. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”_

Steve snapped his eyes open,  looking wildly around for one brief moment  as Bucky’s voice faded from his ears.  Stark white walls, along with the steady beeping noise of machines filled the silence,  as he felt starchy sheets  drawn up to his chest,  covering him, along with the  slight chill of  from his arms being outside of the sheets .  There was an oxygen monitor clipped on his left index finger, but no IV needle stuck in him. As his eyes took in his surroundings,  he glanced to his left to see the most unexpected person sitting next to him.

He blinked; once, twice, surprised to see his counterpart  sitting on a chair, head bent slightly down, eyes closed and seemingly asleep.  She looked so much at peace, that he didn’t want to wake her up and ask her  why he was in the infirmary. Last he remembered  was retiring to his temporarily assigned room.  He had gotten word from Natasha that Peggy was sending a message t hrough those at the silo  and onwards to Sam and Wanda, that the two of them were going to be staying  here  for another  a day  or two.

Looking over to his right,  the curtain to the room’ s window that looked out into the hall was drawn and the door closed.  He heard some muffled voices down the hall, but couldn’t make out what was being said. His uniform was also folded up neatly and placed on a table to his right.  He supposed that it was a saving grace that he had not been stripped out of the  SHIELD-issued sweats he  had  borrowed as a change of clothes.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

H e turned back to see Stevie blinking and smiling at him, with not a trace of having been asleep moments before, on her face. “ All right,” he ventured, wondering why she was asking that. He didn’t feel ill, nor did  he remembered being injured enough during the escape  to require serious medical attention.

“Good,” she said, getting up. “Stay there, Steve. Director Carter would like a word with you.”

“Okay?” he hesitatingly said, pushing himself to sit upright on the bed.

H e watched with apprehensive eyes, as she left, and Peggy entered a few moments later,  closing the door behind her .  She sat down on the seat that his counterpart had vacated, folding her hands together,  but did not immediately speak.  She wasn’t scrutinizing him, but Steve acutely felt those inquisitive eyes of hers searching his face. It was difficult to  for him to maintain eye contact with her, even though he knew that she was not the Peggy he  had loved,  hurt, and lied to.

“By all rights, Captain Rogers, I should be ordering you straight to the silo and back to your reality,” Peggy began. “But that wouldn’t do anything to solve the your problem, because your friends can only do so much to help you. Returning you there right now would only continue to exacerbate it until--”

“What problem?” he interrupted, frowning slightly.

“Your nightmares, Captain,” Peggy answered, giving him an expectant look. “Agent Romanov tells me that you don’t remember your dreams when you wake up.”

_They got reinforcements! Find cover!_

_Grab my hand!_

_Dog Company, close that flank!_

Steve looked away,  the vestiges of echoed shouts from not only him, but other soldiers obeying his orders  fading from  his ears . “ I don’t remember most of them when I wake up,” he quietly answered. “ Most of what I do remember  dreaming about are bits and pieces.  I didn’t think it was a problem.”  He found the courage to look up at her again, even though he did not want to. “Is that why I’m here? It’s a problem now? ”

_Medic! I need a medic here!_

_Go on without me!_

_Stay down! Get to cover and stay down!_

“Dr. Campbell would say otherwise,” was the answer he received.

“But…?” he said, sensing an unusual hesitation in her words, however cryptic they were.

“It’s difficult to find someone with shared era or life experiences to even talk about them, isn’t it?”

S teve silently nodded in affirmation. “ It  is . Sam, Wanda, and Natasha’s experiences are wholly different from mine, but there are some commonalities  that we share. ”

“Cut adrift, fighting is the only thing that we soldiers who were forged in the fires of war can do to protect the ones we love,” Peggy murmured, as he saw her look down at her hands, twiddling her thumbs for a few moments. He remained silent as she looked back up, this time with sadness in her eyes as she said, “I think you’re already aware that I cannot offer you solace for what you’ve gone through. Neither, do I think that this reality will give you what you want as a distraction from your troubles.”

“So what’s going to happen to me then?” he asked. “You’re going to bench me at the silo, have me stand guard with the agents and Inhumans there until this business with the Tesseract is done?”

“If that is what you want to do, Captain,” she answered.

“Would you do it?” he quietly asked, glancing down at his hands. “Would you bench me with the way I mentally am at the moment?”

“Agents have been deactivated from duty for far less than what you’re going through, Captain. Were you an agent under my command in this reality, I’d order you to go to therapy and to completely retire from the field,” she bluntly answered. “Ordering you to stand guard at the silo until Agent Romanov has completed his mission is only kicking the problem down the road.”

H e looked back up at her, glad that she was talking frankly to him.  It was different than the conversations he remembered having with his reality’s Peggy  both during the war and decades later,  at the hospice. Sam had done the same  a few times, but it was as he and  this  Peggy had discussed earlier – it was difficult to completely relate to people who did not share era-defining experiences, much less life experiences.

“That man sitting in the interrogation room, he finally talked, didn’t he?” he asked, sensing that she was trying to give him a way out or to continue with this path he had chosen to walk, with no repercussions. Helping guard the silo would be just as helpful as whatever mission to retrieve the Tesseract was being planned in the works.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Do you even want me to participate in the Tesseract mission?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

He knew that he had to haul himself over the hurdle of continuing to impose the Peggy he knew over this one. This woman sitting before him may have sympathized with him at times, given him advice, but she was not a confidante. She was not Nick Fury, but she was first and foremost, responsible for her agents, and he knew that she would put the priority of their safety over his own.

The parallels he drew from his painful encounter with Peggy in 1984 in his reality, and this one were uncanny, as he tried to objectively put his team’s intrusion into that time period outside of a personal context. It was difficult for him to separate personal from professional now, but he thought he saw the glimmers of similarities between the two. It was bittersweet, as he felt a strange admiration for both this Peggy and his Peggy grow again – both of them had still maintained duty before personal issues, despite what they had both gone through.

Had he lost that part of him?

When had he lost that part of him?

_Trying to get me to join the world?_

_Trying to save it._

“Strike Alpha, along with Captain Barnes and Agent Romanov will be participating,” she explained, “as well as, Private James Barnes, formerly of the US Army’s World War Two Allied Strike Team: Invaders. What little he’s told my agent and Agent Romanov draws a similar parallel to your reality’s Sergeant Barnes. You tell me if you’re going to have a problem with that, Captain Rogers.”

A t once, Steve felt  profoundly sad and uneasy.  He had seen aspects of just how ruthlessly brutal the man had fought on the rooftop and in the safe house. While similar to how Bucky fought as the Winter Soldier, there seemed to be a deliberateness to the actions that this man performed – as if violence  and the need to inflict pain on HYDRA ru l ed his mind,  not objective measures.  It was akin to soldiers and agents he remembered seeing in the field behave when they had lost all reason to live.

T he question about whether or not HYDRA in that reality had taken everything from  the man , was on the tip of Steve’s tongue, but  he didn’t ask it. It was not for Peggy to answer, nor was it a question to ask the man himself.  What he needed to decide now was whether or not he was capable of carrying out either  the silo or Tesseract  duties, never mind  that  the mission parameters that had not been fully dictated to him.

_Sam, I can’t ask you join us on this. You got out for a good reason._

_Dude, Captain America needs my help. That’s more than enough reason to get back in._

“Sam was right,” he couldn’t help but murmur mostly to himself, as he felt a bittersweet smile curl up the edges of his lips. “Captain America needs help,” he said, looking back up. “It shouldn’t matter which reality he or she is from, because that’s more than enough reason to get back in.”

_And save this James Barnes from destroying not only himself, but what Captain America stands for_ , he silently added  to himself.

However arrogant it seemed, the parallels were close enough that Steve could only presume that a version of himself or Stevie had died in that man’s reality. Their death was the only way he could see  any version of Bucky being pushed into a role he  had not wanted  to take up. Had he not read through that journal last year and talked frankly with Bucky, he would have thought otherwise.

C aptain America was an inspiration and an ideal that stood for freedom, justice, liberty, and truth for all. Steve knew that he had almost given that up when he had fought Tony at the silo, had almost wished he had completely given it up  after dropping the shield.  Yet he could not stand by to see injustice wrought in the world, and knew that he could not  stand  guard at the silo.

“Briefing in thirty minutes, Captain Rogers. Room 4-2-alpha,” Peggy stated, getting up from the chair.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. Just before she opened the door, he said, “Peg—Director Carter?”

“Yes, Captain?” she said, turning slightly towards him.

“Thank you,” he said.

Her silent nod of affirmation was all that she gave him before she left. No one else entered the room after she had gone,  and thus left alone, Steve pushed the starchy sheets off of him. Removing the oxygen monitor from his finger, it beeped a few times before he reached over  and shut down the system.

Getting up, he stood before his folded uniform, noting that it had been cleaned somewhere in the middle of the night by someone.  A couple of frayed areas  near where the silver- white star that had been attached to the center chest area had also been patched. The under armor and  stretchy fabric  of clothing  he wore  under the main uniform had also been cleaned and patched. He knew he needed to find out later as to who had done those things, as he was grateful for what they had done.

Stepping over to the side to use the tiny adjacent bathroom, he cleaned himself up first.  C hanging into  his uniform, he folded  his borrowed clothing up and left them where his uniform had been. He didn’t know whether or not he would be returning to the temporarily assigned  room , but with all things considered, if he had to spend another night at the base, he’d rather ask the young Inhuman doctor if there was anything he could do to  dampen his problem.

E xiting the room, he stepped out, closing the door behind him.  He was slightly surprised to see Natasha leaning against the wall with her arms crossed against her chest, opposite of where his door was. Her eyes had been closed, but as soon as he had stepped out, her eyes had snapped open.

“Steve,” she greeted, smiling at him.

“Nat,” he answered, briefly looking away as he felt another wash of guilt cascade over him.

He knew that there were times in which she, along with Sam and Wanda had looked more tired than usual. Those were the times in which he had assumed that he had kept them awake with his nightmares. He always apologized to them, but it never seemed enough, even if he sometimes physically slept far and away from the quinjet whenever they camped in the wilderness. It was also the prominent reason why he thought he had ended up in SHIELD’s infirmary.

“ I’m sorry,” he said, looking back at her, knowing that his apology was paltry, compared to what his friends had put up with him in the past year.  He didn’t blame them for going off on their own for days at a time, nor did he blame them to make up some  meager excuse –  even though all of it was true – for him to go with Natasha to this reality.

N atasha didn’t say a word except to push off from the wall and closed the distance to  casually  hook her left arm around his right. “So which briefing room, Steve?”

He gave her a puzzled look  before saying, “Room 4-2-alpha for me, Nat. Director Carter didn’t inform you?”

“I’ll go where you’re going, Steve,” she said, leaning slightly against him as he followed the signs posted to get out of the medical wing.

“ Nat,” he began as they finally exited the area and back into the  halls of the base.

“Steve, don’t,” she began, unhooking her arm from his, cutting him off before he could begin to explain that he didn’t know if Peggy had given him the briefing room for the Tesseract mission or another. “Whatever briefing you’re getting is the mission I’m going on as well. Director Carter may have told you that I’m supposed to help in the retrieval of the Tesseract, but she can only order me to do so much. Remember, I volunteered to come here as much as you did. Battle buddies don’t abandon each other.”

“I don’t think Sam was being that literal, Nat,” he murmured,  appreciating the gesture  of solidarity,  however rebellious it seemed to be  in the eyes of SHIELD here . “ But, thanks.”

A s the two of the made their way  to the briefing room,  Steve saw more than a few SHIELD agents either geared up or going towards the armory section.  Either an enormous operation was about to be  deployed , or many small ones were in the midst of deploying, as he saw only grim faces. Even the scientists and engineers were hurrying  everywhere.

“ Barnes  created an opportunity for SHIELD to strike at multiple places at once,”  Natasha stated, answering his  unasked question.

“ He did?” Steve began, but realized that the statement could apply to either one, and instead, asked, “Which Barnes, Nat? James or the other one?”

“Both,” she answered, a seriousness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since the UN ratification of the Sokovia Accords, as she caught him frowning in slight puzzlement.

A s much as he wanted to ask her to clarify her answer, he didn’t,  as they turned the corner and ran into Sharon and a most unexpected person with her. “ Sharon,” he began, feeling slightly flustered, even though this was not the Sharon Carter he had shared a kiss with over a year ago.

The last time he had run into her had been a few months ago, when he had gone to London to visit Peggy’s grave after returning from 1984. Sharon had  unexpectedly  been at the grave site, paying her respects as well, but had not called in the authorities to arrest him.  Instead, she had sat there with him on one of the many benches dotting the area, silently listening to him as he tried to explain, tried to come to terms with what he had done in 1984.

She had made no comment about the 0-8-4, nor did she voice her opinion  or condemn him for  the choices he had made.  All she did was provide a voice of reason, of a different perspective based upon her own experiences in growing up in the shadow of her aunt. I t had not brought him much comfort, but neither did what she had said drive him to further despair.

It was… similar to how Peggy confronted a problem, and how she had opened his eyes on the choices that he had had, besides being a USO dancing monkey.

“Captain Rogers,”  Sharon greeted, smiling. “It’s good to see you again.  Agent Romanov. ”

“ Agent Carter,” Natasha stated,  nodding once.

“ You as well,” the momentary flustered feeling fading as she stuck a hand out.  H e reciprocated and  briefly shook it.  Turning his attention to the young teenager standing beside Sharon, i t took  Steve a moment to realize t hat the casually dressed teenager with  her  hair tied up in a  messy  ponytail was Caroline.

“Miss Rogers,” he greeted,  managing to keep his utter surprise  at just how tall Stevie’s daughter had grown, from coloring his tone. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though it  had been less than a day ago, that he and his counterpart had been discussing  the  dangerously  accelerated growth that Caroline was going through.

“ Hey, Uncle Steve,”  the teenager casually greeted, grinning. “ Don’t listen to Daisy when  she  say s that it makes you look like a hobo lumberjack. I like the beard.  It suits you, and makes you look like the  best  President  the US  ever  had ,  Ulysses S. Grant. ”

She then turn ed  her attention to Natasha, saying, “ Y ou must be Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow of your reality.  Hi. ”

Steve could not read any sort of discomfort from the way she held herself , looking almost like  what he remembered himself to look like, rail-thin  wearing slightly oversized clothes .  The only differences w ere that she was almost as tall as he and Stevie were,  had  a nose that definitely looked like Bucky’s nose, and her  previously  light brown hair had  also darkened a few shades .

“ Care to introduce us, Steve?”  Natasha asked, as Steve glanced at her for a moment to see a strangely  curious look in her eyes.

“ Nat,” he said, gesturing with a hand, “this is Caroline Rogers, Stevie’s daughter. Caroline, you seem to already know  Natasha. ”

“ Miss Rogers,” Natasha answered, extending a hand out,  to which Caroline reciprocated rather enthusiastically, shaking her hand with quite a vigor.

“ I’m  so  glad you accepted the mission to come here,  Agent Romanov,” Caroline said, grinning as she let go of Natasha’s hand. “ Daisy spoke highly of you, though  Mom didn’t look happy when the notion  was put forth  to recruit you.  B ut I think it was a good thing for HYDRA to get a taste of their own medicine. It sucks that it didn’t go completely as planned, but man, I would have loved to see  those bastards’ reactions--”

“Okay,  we need to get going  to the silo now.  We want to be punctual to make a good impression on the other reality’s Wakanda, don’t we? ”  Sharon suddenly stated, giving both of them a sheepish,  apologetic look as she suddenly dragged the teenager down the hall. “Take care,” she called, as Caroline began protesting at the sudden interruption, but did not tug or resist as he had almost expected her to do.

“Well,” Natasha stated in the bewildering silence that followed  after the two had turned and disappeared down another hall . “That was… interesting.”

“ She was born with the super-soldier serum in her blood,” he quietly stated. “Birth year wise, she’s only about three or four years old. Stevie said that talks were in progress with our Wakanda and here to try to find a cure for Caroline so she doesn’t continue to accelerate in growth or development.”

“ Oh,” was all Natasha said. A moment later she turned her head slightly up towards him, saying, “She acts like a functional, hormonal, all-limbs  and gangly  teenager with some seriously strong opinions on HYDRA, than someone concerned with a serum that might be killing her, Steve.”

“ Yeah...” he began, feeling somewhat puzzled by the fact that in a little over a year, she had grown from pudgy toddler to teenager. Had he been in his counterpart’s position, he was sure that he would have tried to contact Wakanda  for help  earlier.

“ She certainly has your, or rather your counterpart’s eyes, I’ll give you that,” Natasha  continued to comment . “Who’s the father?  Stark or Barnes? ”

Steve ignored her question and continued down the hall, forcing Natasha to hurry and catch up with him.  It was not his place to tell Natasha the details about Caroline  or her parentage , other than that short simple explanation about the serum running through the young woman’s blood.

In the past, there had been times in which Natasha had thrown out a ‘please just get a room, you two’ whenever he and Tony had argued about one thing or another concerning the Avengers. The first time, he had flushed red in embarrassment at the implied meaning it held. It had not helped that Tony had not even deigned to fire back with a retort as Steve knew that he usually did whenever talking with Natasha. Instead, Tony had immediately stopped talking, given both him and Natasha an indecipherable look, and walked away. Steve had not know what to make of that, and he still did not know. Every time after that first time Natasha said those words, it had always completely stopped his and Tony’s arguments.

Steve could only assume that Natasha’s words had been said mostly in jest, as he knew that his arguments with Tony did parallel an old married couple’s arguments. While he knew that she never evaluated anything in a shallow manner, he had seen his relationship with Tony as complicated. He had liked and admired him, but there had been also many things that he disliked about him – a prominent one being Tony’s arrogance.

It was different than what he had seen in Howard, but try as he might, he knew that his perceptions of Tony were colored by Howard and Howard’s actions during the war.  What he  had seen in Tony was different from what his counterpart  had seen ,  but he was not going to deny that  had circumstances been different,  Natasha’s words may not have been said in jest.  He had chosen his side,  had  chosen his path, had chosen to  keep his long ago promise  to Bucky .

He tucked away all thoughts about the past, and his concerns about not-so-little Caroline Rogers away, knowing that it was not something he should overly concern himself with. It looked as his counterpart had as good of a handle on things as much as circumstances allowed it to be. It was also not his place to give his opinion on how someone else’s child should be raised.

A few more turns down  some other halls finally  brought them to the briefing room that Peggy had told him to go to. The  door before the two of them swished open, and Steve  took a few steps in.  To his surprise,  he saw  his counterpart and the rest of Strike Alpha present, along with James  and the other reality’s  Bucky – just ‘Barnes’  – he mentally termed the man.

Peggy was not present, but considering what they had briefly discussed, he had thought that she would have sent him to the silo briefing. Stevie was standing next to Daisy and Clint, the three of them pouring over a couple of maps of several regions holographically projected on the table. James was standing next to his counterpart, seemingly directing him on the interface to the table with respect to the dog tags in his counterpart’s hand. Steve could easily read tension between the two, and even more seemed to hang in the air above the table between where Stevie and the others were, and where James and his counterpart were. Whatever James’s counterpart had finally said, did not defuse the situation and seemed to escalate it even further.

H e wasn’t given a chance to say an apology  as the door  behind Natasha and him  swished close,  and on the opposite side, another swished open. Peggy entered the room, but did not dim the lights as he had expected  her or the others to do. Both he and Natasha approached the table, with Natasha silently tapping his right elbow  to indicate that he should stand nearer to Stevie and the others.  He chose to ignore that, and remained where he was .  He was going to have to work with this other reality’s Barnes, and thus wanted to observe how he reacted during the  briefing.

His  and Stevie’s counterpart may have been dead in Barnes’s reality,  but the  two of them were alive in the here and now.  However uncomfortable Barnes was with either of them, Steve was going to make sure that the man got over it by the end of the briefing. This man was not Bucky, but  Steve knew that sometimes, it took more than  just being  kind and patient  to help someone see the light.

He had to mentally thank Sam for telling him that – ‘setting his head straight’ in Sam’s words – when they had been hunting for Bucky and did not know how his mental state was going to be when they caught up to him. What he saw now, and back during the brief respite they had had at the safe house, was far different than what he had encountered in Bucharest with Bucky. Both he and Stevie going to have to go into battle again with this man, and any hesitation on theirs or Barnes’s part would give HYDRA the advantage.

S teve caught Natasha briefly giving him a nearly indecipherable look,  before  seeing a quick upturn quirk of her lips.  Peggy gesturing to James  to bring up the interface  brought his attention back  to the more pressing matter at hand. At once, the maps that Stevie and the others had been looking through  were seemingly sucked back into the globe that was being holographically projected. A tiny blinking dot, red in color, appeared on the globe; its location in the northern hemisphere and somewhere in the northern islands of the British Isles.

“ Muckle Skerry,” Peggy stated, disdain evident in her voice,  as she manipulated the globe and zoomed into the tiny island . “A most pleasantly foul location  if there ever was, in the British Isles,  this time of the year . The skerry  is about one kilometer in diameter, and about twenty meters above the sea level. It is  considered  uninhabited , but is  home to two lighthouses.  It’s also surrounded by a bed of sharp rocks and horrid weather.”

“ Perfect place to hide building your reality portal of doom,” Clint muttered.

Stevie brought up the current weather maps in the area, along with  known  markings for HYDRA  forces and their allies. The weather pattern in the area showed a storm system approaching, though wind speed readings were approaching gale-force even without the storm. Up and down the coast of mainland Scotland were  clusters  of enemy forces. Even the Faroe Islands had  a cluster of HYDRA forces dotting the archipelago.  It looked as if HYDRA and it’s allies were amassing  an army  to strike at the island.

“ Latest intel from Strike Echo says that a coordinated attack on that island will most likely happen in six hours,  if current weather conditions hold . Faroe Island is awaiting their delivery of SAMs, and our  Norwegian allies  have been alerted and are  doing their best to delay the deployment ,”  Peggy stated. “We can count on this incoming storm to further delay HYDRA, and unfortunately, us as well.”

“ The skerry is navigable  to  by air,  even in a storm ,  ma’am, ” Steve spoke up, catching everyone’s attention. “The Howling Commandos trained there for two weeks before our first deployment  into Europe.  We just need ed a really good pilot  to get there . ”

He took the map and zoomed in. Circling the area where the lighthouses were, he continued to say, “ It didn’t matter if you were German or Allied forces, those lighthouses had radio beacons to help navigate through the dense fog and rain.  If they’re built the same here, then the frequency they broadcast on should be nearly the same. ”  He zoomed the map back out, and traced a path  along the northern coast of Scotland, saying, “ Howard Stark flew us on this path to evade detection by German U-boats that had been enhanced with tech derived from the Tesseract.  If the quinjet flies about two or three thousand feet above the sea, maintaining a range of a thousand feet or so from the coast, the perpetual clouds  and the strange static electricity that lingers in that area will help with the cloaking.”

“Static electricity?” Daisy questioned.  Steve knew that she was still remembering that harrowing escape from DC and into a storm in the Atlantic ocean when they had returned from 1984.

“Bad hair day only,  Daisy.  Quinjets are shielded against that kind of stuff, ”  James spoke up, gla n cing over towards the Inhuman agent before nodding towards Steve. “I heard rumors about strange stuff in the North Sea.  Nice to know that it’s not a giant sea monster hanging out there. ”

“ All right,” Stevie said, taking the map and zooming back into the island. “Given the conditions, Steve and I will drop and clear an LZ  on the west side of the island.  We can already expect these two types to be there--”  she pulled up two captured images from the quinjet’s external camera, highlighting the yellow hazmat suit-clad HYDRA forces and  the all-black seemingly standard HYDRA uniform. “ What else can we possibly expect?”

E xpectant eyes turned to the other reality’s Barnes, who  merely tapped a couple of things projected on his side of the table  but did not project them onto the center of the table just yet . “ The yellow suited guys are  AIM soldiers, contracted under the command of Red Skull.  Black suited ones are  your usual jack-booted HYDRA commandos.  That’s  all I’ve seen.  My guess is that the LMD will  try to hijack or enhance the radio signal. ”

Barnes fell silent, before tapping a button to bring up what looked like an internal schematic of a LMD, saying, “This is an older schematic, but the general layout is the same. The primary power source is where the brain used to be. Processors and memory are in the stomach with reinforced plating in the area. A backup power source is in the heart area, so it can still run away if it’s decapitated. Skull changed it up after he kept losing so many to snipers. If there are any significant electronics near it when it dies, it will jump into it, so keep the quinjet away.”

“ Capabilities?” Stevie pointedly asked.

“ Hits just as hard as a n eighteen wheeler going at sixty into a wall,”  Barnes stated,  avoiding his focus on both Steve and Stevie . “Reaction time is five times faster than a normal human. It’s a machine. A machine designed to infiltrate and kill--”

“Will more than three armor-piercing bullets  into the stomach  put it down?” Clint asked, folding his hands over his chest. “’ c ause  there was a LMD that  existed here that kind of survived that much.  It took  snapping her neck and ripping her head  and spine out of her  body to kill her. ”

Though Steve was mentally wincing at the graphic description of what Bucky had done to AIDA in the silo over a year ago, he realized that there  had been an evasiveness to Barnes’s answers – a reluctance that was barely heard in his tone. Before he could call the young man out on it though, Natasha interrupted with, “Why don’t you just come out and tell them, Barnes? They can handle the truth  about the LMD .”

Steve frowned slightly, glancing over towards Natasha. He didn’t get a chance to say a word when out of the corner of his eyes, he saw James suddenly punch a few buttons  in anger .  Barnes looked as if he was about to stop him, but then took a step bac k, shaking his head in defeat.  A ll projections that had been floating and rotating above the table were wiped away.  They were replaced by  a single image of a half-robotic skeleton-like, and half-skinned and clothed image of the LMD.

“Aw hell,” Daisy whispered.

Unease, horror,  shock – everything that Steve knew that he was supposed to feel, supposed to react to in response to the LMD on the screen that wore the familiar face of a young Peggy Carter full of vitality –  didn’t surge through him.  Instead, all he felt was a numbness that seemed to spread into a  deep  pool of cold anger. It was growing  the longer he stared  at the  holographic projection, as he felt himself briefly clenching his jaw.

“ Skull finally did it,” he found himself quietly saying, somehow managing to drag his eyes away from the projection as he felt his pool of anger continue to grow and mix with the disgust he felt. Barnes met his gaze  unflinchingly this time as he continued to say, “Your Skull took that  final  step and created the perfect,  mechanically augmented double-agent.”

“ Carter was a member of the French Resistance during the war,”  Barnes stated, his tone even, as Steve continued to hold his gaze. “She  tangled with the Red Skull numerous times.”

“ Steve, what--” Natasha began, as he felt  her place a concerned hand on his right forearm.

“ During the war, t he Red Skull  tried to replace several prominent SSR  code breakers and  support personnel.  He tried to use a Russian psychologist  who defected to brainwash them to behave like the targets he  had been trying to replace. It  had been in its infant stages when  Bucky and I burnt  the facility to ashes.  Peggy  had been among those  Skull had been targeting,” he stated,  tasting the same bitter taste of bile that had risen the first time he had finally understood what the facility was supposed to be –  a HYDRA sleeper agent production facility.

It now made sense to him as to why this other reality’s Barnes was reluctant to even  ask for help from them, though it did not explain why the young man was still  uneasy around both him and Stevie. However, in that brief exchange of reality comparisons of World War Two, there seemed to be  a sort of a defiance – a want of show as to who he was – as if to dare him, Steve, to question all that he had done. It was a challenge – of looking for a fight to be had,  and Steve found it odd to have that turned on  to him.

He remembered Bucky doing the same when they had been younger, more reckless, and happily challenging bullies left and right. He remembered the taunts the bullies had thrown, and the insults that he and Bucky hurled back before diving into a brawl. It always escalated, and right now was not the time or place to escalate any provocative behavior of the sort.

“Answer Clint’s question, soldier,”  he  continued to say ,  trying to keep his anger from what the Red Skull in another reality had done from coloring his tone, before the others in the room could jump in. “ What does it take to kill the Skull’s  abomination ?”

“ More than three AP bullets in the stomach,”  Barnes stated. “I suspect that the Skull’s  reinforced the area with vibranium.  Best is to try to take out the power sources in quick succession,  if possible . ”

T hat was the voice of experience, of having attempted to kill the  LMD that looked like a younger version of Peggy.  Rather than the despair he knew that he would have felt, had the circumstances been any different – had it been similar to what he had encountered in 1984 –  the anger Steve felt continued to  grow colder.

“ Kill it,” Peggy spoke up in a curt,  cold tone. “ Kill it in any way possible.”

It seemed that  Steve  was not the only one to react in anger to what the Red Skull of another reality had done, and he was oddly heartened by that.  A quick glance over towards  Barnes indicated nothing on the man’s face, but Steve thought he could read the slightest indication of surprise in his body language.

“ Ma’am?” Daisy spoke up, hesitating slightly. “That’s… it’s wearing…  I don’t know if-- ”

“ Leave it to the three of us,” James interrupted her, gesturing to himself, Natasha, and  the other reality’s Bucky . “We discussed it last night. We won’t hesitate the pull the trigger.”

“ I’ll cover--” Steve spoke up, at the same time his counterpart did. Glancing over towards her, he tilted his head ever so slightly as she nodded once in affirmation.

“We’ll cover you. The four of us will,” Stevie spoke up for both of them,  gesturing slightly towards Clint and Daisy, who still looked slightly uneasy at the prospect of killing something that looked like her Director.

Steve looked over towards Natasha, catching an understanding look from her. It didn’t matter if his anger at another reality’s Red Skull was fueling him on this mission – he knew that no matter what, he would always initially hesitate to strike at anyone who looked like Peggy. It had been the same way when he had fought Bucky after discovering that he was the Winter Soldier – he hesitated, and then he made his resolve to stop Bucky and complete his mission on the Insight Helicarrier. Here and now, that kind of hesitation would likely get him killed.

“ Good,” Peggy said, looking  unruffled by the fact that her  best agent had no qualms or hesitation in killing someone who looked like her.

While a part of him was saddened and  disappointed to see such a thing, the other part of him accepted it. James was Peggy’s top agent, as Natasha had been Fury’s.  He knew that perhaps, if he and Bucky had not been subjected to their fates during the war, perhaps this was the path that Bucky would have also taken when Peggy became Director of SHIELD in their reality – the  left hand,  the shadowed hand of the Director.

Steve saw Peggy reach forward slightly and manipulate the  map, zooming it back out to show their current location relative to where the skerry was. Displayed on the holographic screen were the clusters of red and blue – of HYDRA and SHIELD forces and their respective allies. “You have a priority go, Strike Alpha.  We’ll discuss what is to be done with the cube once it’s recovered. I’ll leave the weaponry details and call signs to  both of  your discretion,  Captain Rogers . Good hunting, all of you.”

“ Ma’am,” both he and Stevie acknowledged at the same time.

It was only after Peggy had left the room, most likely to attend another briefing or otherwise, that Clint spoke up, asking, “How many missions are launching the same time as us?”

“ Ten total,” Stevie stated. “Three are with Jiaying’s people. She also has her own missions that she’s launching with purely Inhuman forces.”

“S weet ,” was all the archer answered,  looking satisfied.

“ All right, call signs,”  Steve heard his counterpart continue, pointed to him and then herself, saying, “Army and Air?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging,  as he had no opinion  on the call sign,  so that they didn’t cross the ‘Cap’ call sign between each other.

“Quake, Hawkeye,” Stevie continued, nodding towards Daisy and Clint, respectively. “Black Widow--” Natasha. “Nomad--” was James. “And...”

“Not Cap,” the other reality’s Barnes spoke up in a quiet, less hostile tone, but still avoided looking directly at either him or Stevie. Whatever that direct challenge, confrontation – whatever that had been in that short exchange about the Second World War, was gone.  There seemed to be a trace of a melancholic tone in that request. “Please,” Barnes belatedly added after a moment.

“ What  would you like to be called then, Private Barnes?”  Stevie asked, her tone less authoritative, and more open and friendly than what she had used a moment ago.

“ The Winter Soldier,” the man quietly stated, looking up, though Steve noticed that Barnes’s eyes were on Natasha and no one else. “If you’ll allow it.”

S ilence  answered the request, but it was shattered not a few moments later, with Stevie asking, “Steve, is that all right with you?”

S teve wanted to say ‘no’, to deny the usage of the call sign, but he suppose that he was now 3-0 in discerning subtleties when it came to vague answers from Bucky – even if this James Barnes who wore the Captain America uniform was not his Bucky or James. Just the fact that almost every single time Barnes had a chance to directly address either him or Stevie, along with this request to not use the shortened call sign of Captain America, told him that his  presumption about his  and Stevie’s counterpart was dead in Barnes’s reality,  was true .

It was no wonder that Barnes avoided looking at them, was uneasy around them, and became hostile towards them whenever one or both attempted some sort of friendly overture. Either one of them was reminding Barnes of painful memories.  Peggy’s words about the parallels that this Barnes’s path in life to Bucky’s path rang in his mind,  and he realized that he could not blame Barnes for wanting to go back to an old call sign – of memories that most likely did not contain any Steve or Stevie Rogers.

“ Yeah,” he said, nodding, as he glanced over towards Stevie. “It’s fine.”

“ All right, gear up, we got the first bird in the hangar,”  Stevie ordered. Before Steve could join the others in filing out, he saw Stevie pick something up from the far side of the briefing table and toss it at him.

_ C lang! _

Steve blinked in utter surprise as  he caught  a  circular  blue-silver vibranium shield in his gloved hands. “What--?” he began, but had to jog out of the briefing room to catch up with  his counterpart, who now wore a familiar thirteen starred and striped shield  on her back . “Where… when?” he asked.

“ Undercover SHIELD agents  found my shield  being hawked on the black market  after it was lost when the Zephyr crashed . They stole it back before it could be sold, and took that blue-silver one as well.  I’ve been teaching Caroline how to wield it.  Mother-daughter bonding experience, if you will. ”

“ Um, yeah,” he said, walking beside her,  as he found he had already unconsciously tucked and slotted the shield in to  the magnetic hook on his back. There was no going back and giving the shield  to her, now that he had done such a thing.

T hey followed the rest of Strike Alpha at a distance towards the armory and hangar bay,  as he continued to say, “ I ran into her before this briefing started. It sounds like Wakanda agreed to help?”

“They’ll evaluate her first  on the other side at your silo ,” Stevie explained. “ They told Peggy that they’re sending their best scientist  there .  They won’t bring her to Wakanda until they’re sure that they can  cure her, which would most likely be a multi-day trip  for both me and  my daughter. ”

H e couldn’t help but smile slightly at the good news. “If that happens, and if my team and I aren’t in some kind of trouble or crisis, have the people at the silo contact us. We’d like to meet up with  both of you .”

“ But not in Wakanda?” she questioned.

“Not in Wakanda,” he  affirmed ,  understanding the true meaning of the question.

“ Steve...” she began, but then fell silent for a few moments. He saw her eyes focus on James briefly before looking back at him. “Do you want me to find out  if  your  Bucky’s doing better ?  Do you want me to tell you? ”

“ No,” he began, but shook his head. “Yes… I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

S he looked as if she wanted to say something or admonish him for his uncertainty and hesitation, but didn’t.  Instead, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly that he could feel it through the padding on his uniform. “Let me know  if I’m ever there,  Stev e.  Remember, this isn’t the end of the line for either of you. ”

H e nodded, saying, “I know, and I will.”

* * *

_Later..._

 

The water was extremely cold, but Steve had dropped into worse conditions. Heavy gusts of wind and roaring waves pounded at him, as he kicked himself to the surface and began swimming in the direction that his wrist compass indicated. Ten yards to his right was Stevie, and he could barely see her in the darkness and torrential downpour. It was only because of the slight arm movements she made as she swam that he knew that she was there.

It took only a minute of hard swimming for them to reach the beginning of the rocky outcroppings surrounding the skerry. As briefly indicated just before they had jumped, both of them dove underwater, and began to make their way closer to the island. Climbing onto the slippery rocks, Steve clung on tightly as the cold waves crashed and pounded him, trying to drag him back into the sea. He spat salty water out, but continued to climb up.

At the top of the cliff, he made sure he had a good, firm grip on the rocky outcropping as he peeked up and over. The lighthouses could barely be seen in the heavy rain, with their beacons flashing in the distance. The first and the nearest lookout at the perimeter was about one hundred feet away from where he was. There was another about the same distance from the first. Beyond that, he couldn’t see anything due to the rain. Fortunately, neither of the black-clad, rain-slicked lookouts carried flashlights, but Steve did not like the size of the rifles they were carrying.

Hauling himself over and onto a flatter surface after a few minutes, he turned back and reached out with a hand to help Stevie up as well, just as another wave broke over the rocks, drenching them. He didn’t have time to feel cold or stiff, as he silently indicated the distance between the two guards. She nodded, and the two of them sprinted towards the first guard. Just as the guard turned, sensing their approach, his counterpart leapt up, as Steve dashed by the guard. He barely heard his counterpart slam into the guard from above, as he dove and socked into the other guard straight in the stomach.

Both he and the guard crashed into the ground, with the guard out cold even before hitting the ground. He rolled up from the dive, snatching and breaking the rifle with one swift action, as Stevie caught up to him. He remained in a crouch, dropping the pieces of the rifle back onto the ground while taking a quick survey of the area. It was still difficult to see, but Stevie’s silent gestures of another guard east of where they were, and his spotting of a guard less than one hundred feet from where they were indicated a possible spacing pattern.

Making the appropriate gestures for a wide area take out, he got a curt nod in return. They only needed to secure a large enough LZ for the quinjet to land. Together he and his counterpart zigzagged across a six hundred feet perimeter, taking out rest of the guards. With rifles broken, and barely a sound heard other than the rain and surf pounding the island, his counterpart called in the all-clear.

Steve carefully crept forward as he saw the grey-white tall light houses and structures surrounding the area become a little clearer, as an enormous rumble sang through the air. No flash of lightning accompanied the rumble, but it didn’t sound anything like thunder, as the direction was a little too precise to be coming from somewhere within the storm. He had heard it directly in front of him, facing east.

He paused behind an outcropping, tapping a part of the helmet he wore to enable night vision through the HUD, and stood up until he could see beyond the outcropping. What he saw in the distance between the two lighthouses was the shape of a human and a bright object within the LMD’s hands. The LMD was surrounded by what looked like boxy, squat things that had two arms and two legs each. There were five of them surrounding the LMD, and more than two dozen HYDRA commandos either dressed in the yellow-green hazmat suits or black ones scattered throughout the perimeter of the lighthouses and its primary structure. He couldn’t discern any movements within the primary structure, but there was a good chance that more HYDRA forces were waiting in there. The resolution in the HUD was not good enough to determine what they were though.

“Look sharp, Steve,” he heard the hiss of his counterpart over the com.

Turning slightly around, Stevie appeared on his left, while Natasha paused on his right. As difficult as it was to see, James, Clint, and Daisy appeared a few moments later to his counterpart’s left. On Natasha’s right, Barnes materialized, and even with his armor, it didn’t even give off a sheen with all of the rain pelting them.

“LMD center of the lighthouses,” he stated over the com. “Possible HYDRA forces in the structure. Five enemy forces surrounding the LMD, more than two dozen commandos surrounding them. The five are boxy-looking things with two arms and two legs. They don’t look armed. Not sure what they are--”

“MODOK,” Barnes interrupted. “Shit!”

“MODOK?” Clint questioned at the same time Natasha did as well.

“Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing,” came the curt answer from Barnes. “Mutagenic psychopath with superhuman intellect. Really tough son-of-a-bitch to kill. Shit… should’ve seen this with the AIM soldiers that the LMD deployed. I don’t think any of them are the original, but goddammit, that’s what the LMD will be using as the signal source.”

“How tough?” Steve asked before any of the others could ask. He needed Barnes to focus, to be objective, as it looked like the LMD had not yet begun assembling or doing something with the five surrounding her, to send a signal.

“Exoskeleton,” Barnes stated. “Protects his mutated head. Hoverchair is how he and his clones get around. It’s equipped with lasers and missiles.”

Clint’s whistle of surprise was the only thing heard over the ratty com that was being affected by just how soaked they all were. Steve didn’t let it linger though, as he raised his hands ever so slightly and pointed them in the directions of the lighthouses, saying, “Team One: Hawkeye and Widow, secure the left lighthouse. Team Two: Nomad and Winter, you got the right. Quake, you’re with Stevie and me – we’re the welcome wagon. Hit those MODOK things with everything you got. Widow, Nomad, or Winter, if you get a shot at the LMD, take it.”

Acknowledgments rang in his ears with the orders, and as both he and his counterpart unhooked their shields from their backs. At his, “Go!” the team sprang out from where they had been. Steve sprinted across the wet and slippery ground, keeping his footsteps firm and sure, as both he and his counterpart slammed into the wall of yellow and black.

Shouts of surprise, followed by frenzied yells from the HYDRA soldiers accompanied the attack. The force of his and his counterpart’s impact with their shields leading the way was strong enough to knock more than a few heads together as several HYDRA soldiers flew up and away. Steve dug in and continued to push through the lines, as bolts of blue burned where he had been moments ago. The screams of HYDRA vaporizing each other with the reflection of his shield against their weapons rattled in his ears, bringing back memories of old.

He did not linger in those memories though, and as his initial momentum abruptly came to a halt, he ducked and swept his leg to the side, felling three more. Partially cartwheeling to the left, as he tossed his shield up and to the side, he kicked and flipped back over, landing lightly on his feet. Snatching the shield out of the air, he brought it down in front of him the nick of time to deflect several more bolts as the familiar hollow-ringing noise of Daisy’s powers cut across behind him.

Wasting little time as he glanced back to see even more soldiers pour out of the structure, he also heard the faint rapid report of rifles firing from above through the noise. Explosions from Clint’s special arrows peppered the line, sending globs of dirt and flecks of stone flying into the air. Steve briefly raised his shield over his head as the chunks fell back to the earth.

In the spaces that he could see beyond the throng of soldiers, he saw two of the five MODOK units fall, their scowling, simulated faces and screens shattered. Tossing his shield in a lateral arc, it bounced off of a yellow hazmat-suited soldier, ricocheting to another. Just as it completed its arc, Steve pulled out his sidearm and fired off three rapid shots at three black-clad soldiers to his left, right, and center, downing them before they could pull the triggers on their weapons.

Catching and hooking his left arm through the straps of his shield, he advanced again, firing his side arm left and right, aiming more for the Tesseract-based weapons than the soldiers themselves. Each bullet that managed to penetrate and explode the weapon burned the user and sent shrapnel flying everywhere as he advanced as best as he could. Behind him, Daisy was pounding soldiers within his peripheral, alternating between firing her pistols and unleashing her earthquake powers.

Before he could make further headway than he already did, the skies on either side of him, Stevie, and Daisy lit up. A hail of missiles – pinpoint dots that could barely be seen through the downpour – but as small as the micro-missiles that Tony had on his suit, flew through the air. A crackling cascade of pops accompanied a thunderous explosion that was further amplified by the storm raging above them.

“Team One!” he yelled over com as he saw to his left, the plumes of the missiles exploding against the lighthouse.

At the same time, Stevie had shouted, “Get clear, Team Two!” The right lighthouse had also been struck by the missiles that had been unleashed by the remaining MODOK units.

Steve tried to turn back to reach Daisy to shield her from the incoming debris and collapse, but the soldiers surrounding him were too thick. To his relief, Stevie had managed to reach her, as Steve crouched and brought the shield up over his back and head, just as he caught a glimpse of James and James’s counterpart leaping out of their collapsing lighthouse. Of Natasha and Clint, he wasn’t able to see anything else, as chunks of brick, wooden beams, and metal debris crashed upon all of them.

The momentary reprieve was broken a minute later, as Steve wrenched his arms up with all of his strength, flinging a ten foot slab of a lighthouse from one of the sides off of where he had taken shelter. Rain poured down and washed the biting pieces of shrapnel and blood that had ripped into his uniform, away. A muddy, slurry soup surrounded him and those surviving pockets of HYDRA soldiers, making it difficult to move around.

“Stat rep!” he shouted into the com, as he thought he heard someone groaning in pain through the ratty line.

To his relief, he heard his counterpart’s acknowledgment of hers and Daisy’s status, along with the rest. Not one of them had been severely injured. They all sustained cuts, gashes, bruises that could be ministered with first aid, but miraculously, no one had broken any bones or had been killed by the collapsing structures. The way before them was also cleared for a moment, as Steve saw that the LMD had taken advantage of what the MODOK units had done.

A thin sliver, crackling and humming with energy, had appeared in the air before the LMD, as two of the three MODOK units stood on either side of it, with the third one feeding something into it through an umbilical. They opened the ripple in the air as if it were a curtain. It buzzed, seemingly amplifying the sounds of the storm, but Steve was not about to let them complete the sequence.

Daisy’s yell of rage through the com was all the warning he got as he leapt up and forward. A jolting wave trembled through the earth, buckling and breaking slabs of debris into smaller pieces. HYDRA soldiers who struggled to get up after the collapse of the lighthouses stumbled and collapsed. Steve balanced himself as best as he could as he landed and sprinted across the broken pieces. Throwing his shield forward and straight at the LMD, it was deflected as he slid across the mud-and-debris covered ground. Laser beams burned across where his head used to be, from center most MODOK who had ripped itself away from interfacing with the rip.

Steve fired off what was left in his sidearm’s magazine at the other two units. Their attention was briefly diverted as he ejected the spent clip and slammed a new one up, just as his shield plowed into and sheared a part of the left side of the MODOK’s exoskeleton off. Stevie’s shield pinged off and sheared a leg from the same MODOK, but neither reached their intended target – the LMD. The MODOK had fired off another barrage of missiles to deflect the shields.

Twisting up, he charged in as he sensed, rather than heard, the close breeze of three armor-piercing bullets skim by him. One managed to hit the LMD in the head, rocking her back, but it was not enough to completely pierce the layers of protection built in. The other two bullets were absorbed by the MODOK unit, shattering it’s other arm and remaining leg. Steve snatched his shield out of the air, and brought it down in front of him.

A hail of explosive arrows from Clint and five more bullets from either side downed the thing, but by then, the advantage that they had had was gone. HYDRA soldiers swarmed them again, nearly overpowering Daisy from the yelp she had uttered over com. The buzz of conventional firearms, combined with what Tesseract weapons they had left, filled the air, competing with the wild winds for sheer noise – enough that Steve could barely hear what was being shouted over the com.

It didn’t matter anyways, as he caught a glimpse of the LMD reaching forward and ripping the portal open. Strike Alpha, grounded and surrounded by HYDRA soldiers, were not going to make it. They were not going to reach her in time and stop her from crossing—he still had to try. They could not fail—

“No!”

His shout of denial was lost to the roaring winds as he swung his arm and shield across, bowling back several black-clad commandos. Drawing his arm back, he flung the shield with all of his might, but the remaining two MODOK units were much too fast. Both units intercepted his and Stevie’s shield, which had been thrown a split-second after his. At the same time, the two units had fired a flurry of missiles towards their positions, heedless of the HYDRA soldiers surrounding them.

Steve leapt up and away, the momentum of the blast where his feet had been seconds ago, propelling him higher as he twisted and angled himself while snatching his shield out of the air. Crashing back down into the ground, he swung up, shield leading the way, as two soldiers, one caught directly on the shield itself and the other winged, flew up. Flipping back with his momentum, he again, flung his shield at the LMD—

Again it was blocked by one of the two remaining MODOKs, as he saw the LMD reach forward with her right hand, gingerly pressing on the crackling, jagged human-sized portal to make sure that it wasn’t going to collapse. Time seemed to slow down for him in that instant as he tried to sprint towards the LMD – to fight through the resurgent wall of enemies that tried to push him and the others back. He could see the LMD continue to take another step forward and through, seemingly letting her left hand trail behind her, as if taunting them for their failure to stop her.

~~~

_ Breathe—pause—heartbeat—fire. _

~~~

Steve didn’t hear it; not over the frenzied shouts, thunder, torrential downpour, and howling winds, but he did see it. For one moment, the LMD’s left arm was slowly slipping into the portal, and in the next instance, a bullet from the east suddenly pierced and shattered the LMD’s arm at the forearm.

The portal between the worlds fizzled closed, but the metal hand holding the Cube remained.

 

~*~*~*~


	9. Memory: морозилка

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**морозилка** _

_Year:_ _1943, no additional fragments_

_Date: December 25 th, no additional fragments_

_Time: Morning, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

Bucky couldn't help but grin as he continued to half-run in a crouch back towards the edge of the forest where the Howling Commandos had made their camp. Camp was a relative word, considering they were in no-man's land, and they had dug foxholes along the perimeter of the forest they took shelter in. Beyond the forest was a small field, and beyond that, their target that they had found while burying the dead children in a town about thirty miles away to the west.

Even with the foul mood they had been in when they had left the SSR Headquarters, a few days in the thick forests outside of where they had parachuted into, had cooled most of them. There were some lingering anger within all of them, but they were now focused more on completing their sort-of unauthorized mission, than on the children they had had to bury. Revenge had been taken by all of them – Steve included – when they had raided the outpost that Colonel Phillips had wanted to take over. This was only a spin off, so to speak, from their primary mission which had been completed.

“Barnes!” he heard Falsworth hiss as he passed by the foxhole the British paratrooper was holed up in with Morita as his battle buddy. “Where's the fire, mate?”

Bucky skidded to a halt, half jumping into the already-cramped foxhole, and pulled out the tiny object that he had spent the better part of today making sure that it was clean. “Finished cleaning and making sure Steve's Christmas present was in order,” he said, holding the object, but not allowing Falsworth or Morita to grab it out of his hand.

“That's his compass, Barnes,” Morita pointed out.

“Yeah, and it has something special in it now,” he stated, tucking it back into a pouch.

“Okay, Saint Nicholas,” Falsworth said, nodding as a knowing smile appeared on his face. “Best be on your way then.”

Bucky laughed a little before slapping the British soldier on the back, and climbed back out. He crouched low, pausing for a moment to listen and see out beyond where he current was. Hearing and seeing no immediate movement in the field, he continued to crouch and run, until he finally reached the edge of the forest. Ducking into the foxhole that was half-covered by snapped off pine branches, he couldn't help but feel satisfied that Steve had reacted appropriately to his entrance. That was, Steve had instantly become guarded.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted a moment later, smiling and relaxing as Bucky slid into the foxhole and pulled one of the branches over to cover the hole as best as he could. “Anything interesting out there?”

“S’no,” he answered, grinning as he slung his rifle off of his back and set it to the side, making sure that no dirt, however frozen it was, got into the barrel. He settled down into the cramped space, accepting the open flap of the double layers of thin woolen blankets.

Wrapping the layers over his right side, with his left pressed up against Steve’s right for warmth, he almost laughed out loud as he saw Steve shake his head in exasperation. “That’s a terrible pun.”

“It made you smile,” he gently retorted as he saw the tiniest of an upwards quirk of Steve’s lips.

Since the discovery of the frozen children, he had not seen Steve show any other expression on his face other than grim. Even after they had all taken a few days to cool down away from the SSR and on this mission, nothing seemed to have made Steve show any other type of emotion, much less laughter. This response, however small it was, made Bucky feel relieved that his best friend had not completely closed himself off to the world.

In response, Steve merely snaked his right arm across his back and pulled him close, as if he were about to muss his hair. Bucky remembered doing that to Steve many times before Steve had undergone the transformation, but at the moment, Steve did no such thing.

Instead, he felt the brief weight of Steve resting his chin on the top of his head, saying, “Yeah. Thanks.”

It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t mind the affectionate actions like this one that Steve sometimes unexpectedly did – noting that they happened only when it was just the two of them alone. It more that he suspected that Steve enjoyed surprising him at times, now that they were both the same height. Sometimes, he also suspected that Steve also performed some of his actions more as a prank-like revenge, since there had been times that he knew he had gotten away with all of the physical teasing he had done to Steve before the transformation.

He mentally sighed, pushing those convoluted, 'only-in-faraway-dreams' thoughts to the side, as he shifted slightly to get Steve to loosen his hold on him. Reaching into the pouch where Steve’s compass was, he pulled it out and brought his hand out from under the paltry warmth of the blankets. “Merry Christmas, Steve,” he said, holding the compass in front of him.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Bucky,” Steve answered lifting his chin off of his head and righting himself. Bucky heard him snort in laughter as Steve snaked his left hand out, careful not to dislodge the other half of the blankets draped over him, and took the compass from him. “So this is where my compass went.”

“Open it,” he encouraged him, his grin getting wider as Steve gave him a puzzled look.

He watched as Steve returned his attention to the compass before flicking it open at the catch, with his thumb. Steve’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he saw what was lined on the inner part of the cover.

“Your north star,” Bucky softly stated.

The silence that enveloped their foxhole was peaceful and comfortable as Bucky watched his best friend stare at the picture of Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter within the compass. Though he could see the beginnings of tears form on the corner of Steve’s eyes, it didn’t get any further, as Steve rapidly blinked. A loving look seemed to envelope his friend’s eyes, as he saw him tilt the compass ever so slightly, with the edges of his lips trembling.

“Bucky… I...” Steve began, but seemed to falter in words as Bucky saw him slowly close the compass after a few minutes of silence, and tucked it back into some compartment within his uniform’s waist belt. “Thank you,” he heard him quietly say.

“We’re not going to be staying in this freezing hell hole forever, Steve,” he said. “Wherever we go after we hit this factory, she’ll be there to guide you. If you want to go back to HQ, or if you want to continue to hunt Krauts and HYDRA after this, I’m—we’re all with you.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**морозилка** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	10. Один единственный (One and Only, re: Nine and Seventeen)

**Chapter 5: Один единственный (One and Only, re: Nine and Seventeen)**

_Reality: Avengers Earth (MCU)_

_Siberian Silo_

 

_Out of the fire and into the frying pan._

After everything that he had been through, he'd never thought he'd be back here. Though the place still looked generally the same, the many lights that the Wakandans had strung up to make the area a little more luminous than it had been, brought out the harshness of the painted walls and aging mechanics that kept this place alive. The clanking and cranking noise of the elevator that brought him down to the lowest level certainly did not change. As it shuddered to a halt, it seemed that for all the Wakandans had done in the past year of guarding this place, the sharp smell of oil had not gotten any better.

Sliding the gate open and pulling the door up, he stepped out and merely nodded at the two guards standing immediately forward of the elevator. They returned the gesture as he continued onwards to the central area of the silo itself, unhindered and unguided. He knew where to go; it was almost muscle memory for him, even if those memories were unpleasant.

_Suck it up, Barnes_.

He glanced down at his left hand, the burnished blue-silver sheen of metal fingers layered like scales and created in a similar manner to the Soviet-made silver arm. Curling is fingers into a fist and holding it there for a brief moment, he then uncurled it and continued on. The arm was well designed and made, as it had not taken him long to calibrate it to the point where when he opened doors and pressed buttons, nothing shattered or was bent out of shape.

Shuri had accompanied him to the silo, not just because he had contacted her, but she also had business at the silo. What business that was, he didn’t know and didn’t ask. He was already grateful for her help in everything else, and felt he had no more right to intrude on her business or life, than he already had done. She was still in the Wakandan airship above ground, having been contacted by her brother through the long-range com, but had indicated that he should go on down first.

Every entrance way that Bucky passed as he made his way through the starkly lit halls had two Wakandan guards present. All were carrying spears, but Bucky had seen what those deceptive-looking weapons could do. Occasionally, one of the guards would stare at him as he walked through, but it seemed that either they had been notified of his arrival, or nothing seemed to faze the guards at all. He thought it was both, considering how heavily encrypted all transmissions were between him and his counterpart.

Finally, after what felt like another lifetime of traversing the halls, but only a few minutes, he arrived at the central area. He could hear the crackling pops that indicated that the portal was open, even though he could not see it yet. As soon as he stepped through the threshold, a crisp, heavily accented voice stated, “Sergeant Barnes.”

“Yes?” he answered, as he saw a Wakandan scientist approach him, with no visible weapons upon her. He knew better than to not assume that she wasn't armed, as the bracers she wore looked slightly familiar. Shuri had shown him the original bracers she had created that functioned similar to how he remembered Daisy Johnson's earthquake powers being unleashed. He knew that those bracers had been battle-tested during the coup by Killmonger. It looked as if Shuri had refined her design since then, and equipped most, if not all the scientists with variants of it.

“Please follow me,” she stated, and led him deeper into the central area.

Situated in the area where he remembered Steve and him trying to climb their way out of the silo, was the portal; magnificently terrifying and awe-inspiring at the same time. Bucky could feel a tiny hum within his teeth – a slight tickle – but considering that the Wakandan guards were not wearing any sort of hazmat suits, he could only assume that whatever the portal was emanating besides the noise that sounded like an old combustion engine dying, it was nothing overly hazardous to human health.

The scientist didn't quite lead him to the portal, and instead, stopped by a console that had been set up about ten meters away from the portal. “In addition to the transmission that was captured, the repository captured a data packet. It was addressed specifically to you, and is encrypted with a passcode that we can only assume that you will have knowledge of.”

Bucky nodded once as the scientist pulled up a holographic interface and hard light keyboard for him, before stepping away to attend to other duties. While he was a little surprised that the scientists here had not attempted to hack open the message, he was at the same time, grateful. He had thought that as 'secret' as his conversations with his counterpart across realities were, Wakandan Intelligence or some sort of organization related to that would have monitored everything said.

A blinking cursor in front of the interface stood waiting for the passcode. He didn't attempt to type in a random string of numbers and letters, as he assumed that he would only get one chance to unlock the message. He knew that standard security allowed at least three attempts before locking down, while lax ones allowed multiple attempts. However, he had a memory of one of the missions that his handlers had sent him that involved logging into some key system. He had been told by Karpov that there had been sightless others monitoring the number of attempts to log in. Thus, if one wanted to fool the system, one had to give the correct passcode only once.

Considering the caginess of his counterpart, and the fact that a part of the packet sent over from the other reality was encrypted, he also had to assume that his counterpart did not want any of the information to fall into the wrong hands. Thus, he had a single attempt to successfully decrypt the packet.

As to what the passcode was, there was nothing on the interface screen to give him a hint – only a blinking cursor. He did have a hunch as to what the passcode would be, but was not entirely confident about it. It was not based on the conversations he had had with his counterpart, but based on the sole reason why his counterpart would call him back to action.

[End of the Line]

As soon as he typed the passcode in, and hit the 'enter' button, the interface fizzled ever so slightly before a small note was displayed. He only had ten seconds to read through it before the display fizzled again, with the note deleted. It was enough for him to understand the parameters of the mission, what was required of him, and especially who had potentially caused the massive hiccup in the other reality. More importantly, he now understood why his counterpart could not do anything to mentally help Steve – and neither could he, _if_ he wanted to keep himself anonymous.

He knew that he was about to skirt the edge of the storm that still swirled around what was left of the fragments of his memories. While most of them had been pieced together, those that still remained as shards pertained mainly to his years as the Winter Soldier. It was a small storm within him, but it was a potent one that always hovered at the edge of his consciousness. Unfortunately, that storm almost always overtook him during his nightmares.

To go into battle now – even to assist Steve anonymously – was a test of his resolve to remain who he was; of the lack of barrier holding back the monster within him. However, he was not going to abandon Steve, and was determined not to break his oldest and newest of his promises. He had already broken too many of them, and he could not bring himself to do so anymore – not when he knew that he should have contacted Steve as soon as all traces of the commands and words that controlled him had been erased.

Stepping back, he looked for the scientist who had directed him to this area and caught her attention. “Are the weapons that were stored here still in the same area?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she answered. “I shall inform those on the other side to expect you to cross shortly.”

“Thank you,” he said.

He made his way across the central area, headed to a familiar-looking entrance that he knew would take him to the armory that the silo kept. The keypad that had been there as a lock was already removed, as he swung the door open and stepped in. A few rifles and ammunition cases had been moved and inspected, but nothing in the armory had been taken.

Reaching forward and plucking the entire casing of combat knives clean, he pocketed and sheathed them in the usual areas that he carried them in. It was a familiar action, both from his war and Winter Soldier memories, and it helped that the reinforced, impact-absorbent padded combat outfit that Shuri had clothed him in was similar to his previous uniforms. It wasn't black, but the dark shade of blue it was in could almost be called black in the dim light of the armory.

He didn't think he was going to engage in close quarters combat, but considering what he had read, he had to be prepared for the fact that there was a chance that he would be forced into it. Thus, he plucked out a sub-machine gun, holstered it into the back holster. He took a handful of clips for the gun and slotting those in the appropriate compartments on his waist belt.

The shotgun-grenade launcher was clipped to the small of his back, resting in the usual area, with six shells already loaded into it. He was not going to carry more shells, as he surmised that if he really needed the shells, he was in too deep over his head. The medium ranged weapon was not suited for his combat style anyways. He also holstered two Glock 17's into his sidearms' holsters, grabbing a handful of clips for those as well.

Finally, he crouched and pulled out a long dusty casing that had not been touched for nearly three decades. Opening it, he briefly waved away the dust that sprang up into the air as he ran a critical eye over the matte black sniper rifle that sat cushioned in the case. Every part that could have had a sheen or shine had been painted over. Even the sniper scope had been customized to not have the lens reflect any light.

There were two completely identical versions of the sniper rifle produced: one sitting in front of him, and the other somewhere in the US. Because it had been nearly impossible to conceal and ship the first sniper rifle into the States during the Cold War, a second one had been commissioned for usage in his European and Asia assignments. The first one had been left in the States after his mission to DC to ensure that the assassination of Yelena Belova, the previous Black Widow, and her contact Daniel Sousa, had been completed. The one in the States had also been the one he used to shoot SHIELD Director Nicholas J. Fury.

Picking up the rifle, he gave it a quick once-over, noting that absolutely nothing had been touched – not even the scope calibration – since Karpov and the others had stored this here. It was still calibrated from his last mission, as a bitter taste rose up in his mouth. So many people had died by his hand, and he remembered them all: their names, their faces, their locations, and how they died.

_You are not a monster!_

A sad smile quirked up the edges of his lips as the phantom echo of Steve's denial faded from his mind. He knew that now was not the time to wallow in his thoughts, as he hefted the rifle and slung the strap over his right shoulder. Picking up the cartridges of four bullets each, four cartridges in total, he placed them in the appropriate areas within the waist belt's compartments.

He then picked up the small tin that contained kohl for his eyes. It was cracked and dry, but spitting into it and rubbing the top most layer softened it up enough for him to apply a layer around his eyes. He didn't need a mirror to know how much he had applied, as it was muscle memory for him to do so. As soon as he was done, he returned the tin back into the casing.

Getting up, he left the armory and returned to the main area. Unsurprisingly, more than a few scientists stared at him and the armaments he carried, as he walked by them and approached the portal. The same scientist approached him, this time with a guardsman accompanying her.

“I am obliged to tell you this, Sergeant Barnes, as I have advised all others who have traveled through the portal,” the guardsman stated without any introduction, greeting, or otherwise. “Should there be a threat both external to this silo, or internal through the portal, we will destroy the device. There will be no way home for you or any other traveler stuck on the other side.”

“I understand,” he answered, nodding once.

“Good,” the guardsman said, and stepped away. “As your military says: good hunting.”

He spared only a glance at both the guardsman and the scientist before focusing on the portal and began walking towards it. It crackled and looked quite angry, but the jagged-looking edges were far apart enough that he would be able to pass through without touching the edges. As he stepped through, it felt like someone had fuzzed his hair and pulled a woolen sweater over him. The strange sensation passed by quickly though, as he emerged into the other side.

“When the Wakandans said that a traveler was coming through, I certainly didn't expect you to show up.”

Bucky blinked in utter surprise, pausing for a moment beyond the threshold to see someone he did not expect at all. The transparent, holographic projection of the young man standing before him was dressed in a three piece suit reminiscent of what he remembered Howard Stark often wearing. He fuzzily remembered seeing Leopold Fitz kill himself via cyanide capsule after the fight against Madam Hydra and her super-soldiers had ended. How or what this projection was, gliding across the silo floor, was as strange as the Inhumans and SHIELD agents assigned to guard this place, and not reacting to Fitz at all.

That pause lasted only a moment as Fitz, or whatever it was, paused before him, saying, “Hello and well met, Sergeant Barnes. I am an AI built and derived from the agent formerly known as Leopold Fitz.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, as the AI stepped—no, glided—back, clasping his transparent hands behind him, saying, “I can only assume that Director Carter as requested your presence here for a mission, as she had for Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov.”

He nodded once, before asking, “What is the local time?”

“Twenty-two, thirty seven,” the AI answered. “There should be a spare quinjet available topside. Good hunting, Winter Soldier.”

He blinked, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as he stared at the AI. When the AI offered no more commentary or movement, and merely seemed to wait for him to continue on, he did so – albeit with slight apprehension. That apprehension was only somewhat alleviated with the continued non-reactionary patrols that the Inhumans and SHIELD agents were engaged in. No one stopped his movements, though he caught more than a few staring at him with varying degrees of surprise.

He ignored them as he made his way out of the main area of the silo and traced his path back to the elevator. Unlike his reality's side, guards were not posted at every entrance, and instead, were mostly concentrated either in the elevator area, or directly at the main area. Getting into the elevator, he closed the gate and door before activating the mechanism.

Outside and above ground, the winds howled and nipped at him, but as the AI had stated, there were a few quinjets covered under a camouflage tarp made for blending in with the snow. Removing the tarp over one of the quinjets, he quickly inspected the outside before approaching the ramp. To his unease, it opened without a passcode. However, now was not the time to admonish SHIELD or the Inhumans for such lax security, as according to the message, the op was supposed to begin in three hours.

Climbing into the quinjet and slapping the button to raise the ramp, he made his way to the cockpit, sat down and skipped the preflight checks and sequences. He immediately fired up the engines up and engaged both the throttle to full, and cloaking as soon as he was clear off the ground. Time was against him, and he hoped that he would be able to get to Steve and the others in time.

* * *

_Later..._

 

Bucky could hear the curt chatter from Strike Team Alpha through the earpiece he wore, letting the memories of the war so long ago briefly wash over him. The enemies were different, but the situation was the same as it was now – hectic, urgent, and dare he actually think it: adrenaline-pumping. Steve's steady, reassuring, and commanding tone through the com line was an oddly soothing balm for the strange nervousness he was feeling.

He didn't know why such a sensation was crawling within him, as it never happened before. He was not going to even announce his presence over the com line, much less show himself. He could only surmise that it was because the barrier between the monster within him and his sense of self was gone, that a part of him was latching onto Steve's voice as an anchor to save his sense of self.

The secured frequency had been a little difficult to pinpoint, as nothing in the message his counterpart had sent over gave him operational details except for the destination. He had only found the frequency through some creative 'hacking' using what he remembered Daisy Johnson doing while in the Framework.

He stepped away from the holographic projection of enemy forces on the island, he had managed to get working in the cargo hold. Taking a few deep breaths, he began to sink into his no-thought state and lower his heartbeat. Hearing Steve, and even Steve's counterpart's voices over the line was helping him sink fast – ready to assist in the shadows, if needed.

Returning to the cockpit, he slid into the pilot's seat, and took the the autopilot off. Briefly wrestling with the controls as the high winds of the storm buffeted the aircraft, he maneuvered the quinjet closer to the skerry called Clettack. He remembered the intense swim that the Howling Commandos had done to get from Muckle to Clettack and back, during the two-week training before they had been officially deployed into Europe.

While it was mostly a jutting rock of earth that was a little more than fifty meters in diameter, it was far enough away that anything coming from that area would be unexpected – especially above the storm clouds. He was not going to be able to land the quinjet on the skerry, not with this storm. It was already difficult to see with the pelting torrential rain and massive waves of the North Sea being roiled up. He did not want the winds to knock him around too much.

“...Hawkeye and Widow, secure the left lighthouse. Team Two: Nomad and Winter, you got the right. Quake, you’re with Stevie and me – we’re the welcome wagon...”

Bucky frowned a little as he furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, hearing the call sign of 'Winter' being said by Steve. The others' call signs were clear – he knew who they were, but Nomad and Winter; one of those was his counterpart. That much was clear. Considering his suspicions as to who was 'negatively influencing' Steve according to his counterpart, the 'Winter' call sign made his theory ever more robust.

He shook his head, dislodging that thought as he focused on settling his mind back into the no-thought state. He had a job to do: protect Steve from the shadows, and if necessary, use his skills to make sure that the Tesseract did not fall into the wrong hands.

As soon as he had settled the quinjet into an angled hover, straddling a dangerous line between two towering cumulonimbus clouds at about eight kilometers above sea level, he returned to the cargo hold. He picked up his sniper rifle, attached a cable from the projection, and ran it to the scope of his rifle. He also picked up a small, portable oxygen canister attached to a mask and placed it over his nose and mouth. He began to breathe in slowly and deeply.

The grenade launcher and sub-machine gun had been unholstered and set to the side, secured by cargo netting, while the two Glocks remained holstered at his side. He needed careful balance and a steady supply of oxygen to make the shot – if needed – as his target was about two kilometers away to the west, and about eight kilometers nadir from his current position.

Hitting the button to open the ramp after the thirty second depressurization, the howling winds roared in his ears, nearly drowning out what was being said over com, while the ice-cold wind whipped at him. Still, he hit the button again to stop the ramp from fully opening and knelt down so that he was eye line and sight with the crack that allowed the elements in.

He could feel the quinjet shudder and buck with the wind, with the inertia compensators working over time to keep the aircraft where it was. Setting the butt of his sniper rifle firmly against the hollow of his shoulder and right arm, he peered through it, and set both the muzzle and scope to peer out into the elements. At this distance, he began to calibrate the infrared scope based upon what the projection was feeding him.

The sounds of Steve and the others fighting down below could barely be heard by him, but he kept himself calm. Despite the loss of the perch on the lighthouse, they were still fighting, still trying to make headway through whatever these types of soldiers were – and whatever a MODOK was. All he saw were pinpoints of dots through the scope interface – movement from red enemy forces, and the blue Strike Alpha.

The luminous glow of the Tesseract was visible in his scope, as his left hand carefully calibrated the scope even further – carefully setting the angle needed to get the shot off. Refraction through his scope and the quinjet's sensors was a concern, as this would be the longest distance that he had ever attempted a shot, and thus knew that he could not rely entirely on the quinjet's calibration.

Of the portal opening between worlds, it looked black – and not lit up in his scope. It looked like a sickened version of the jagged portal that he had stepped through a few hours ago. What little he could hear from the com told him that the team struggling to push through the enemy forces, and knew then that he had to take action.

_Breathe._

_Heartbeat._

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

_Breathe. Aim and track._

_Target is stepping through the portal slowly. A physical taunt._

_Shift zero-point-two-five degrees to the left._

_Heartbeat._

_...you shaped the century..._

_Breathe—pause—heartbeat—fire._

The sickly portal shuddered closed, and the cube remained.

_Shift zero-point-one degrees to the left._

_Fire—shift zero-point one-five degrees to the right—fire—fire._

_Reload._

_Breathe._

_Heartbeat._

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

_Pause—shift point zero-zero five degrees down—fire—fire._

_Heartbeat—pause—fire—fire._

_Reload._

_Shift point one degrees down—fire—breathe—fire—fire—fire._

_Reload._

_...you shaped the century..._

_Breathe._

He could barely hear the squawk of surprised exclamations over the com, as the scope and interface showed that there were no longer enemies clustered close to the Tesseract. He saw a blue dot move in towards the Tesseract, but his attention was diverted as a loud and piercing proximity horn sounded from the cockpit.

Tearing his eyes away from the scope, he focused on the holographic projection, and saw a massive amount of red coming in, in an arc that stretched from the southwest to northwest. HYDRA reinforcements to those forces on Muckle Skerry, or whatever they were, were almost on top of where Steve and the others were. He knew that he could shout a warning over the com, but given that everyone else had been shouting at the top of their lungs, his own difficulties in hearing anything over the wind, and the storm below him, he doubted that any of them would hear him.

Quickly getting up, he slapped the button to close the ramp as he tucked the sniper rifle in between some jump seat crash webbing. He also tore the oxygen mask off and tossed it to the side. Making his way to the cockpit and hopping into the pilot's seat, he flicked the autopilot and hover mechanism off. Wrestling with the controls once again, he flicked a few buttons to activate the HUD and weapons interface.

“Shit, that was our ride!” Quake's scratchy, almost garbled exclaimed over the com fizzled in his ear.

Bucky didn't need any visual or explosive noise over the com to understand that HYDRA had either blew up, or over took whatever transport Strike Alpha had used to get to the island. Nosing the quinjet down, he pushed the throttle to full as he slaved the rotary cannon trigger mechanism to his joystick. Flicking secondary armament controls on, he armed four of the twelve, 70 mm rockets that this quinjet carried in its launcher, and overlaid infrared onto the HUD to get a tonal lock.

As the quinjet roared down through the storm, he fought with the joystick, careful to not exert too much of a grip on the stick to crush it. As the island loomed ever closer, he could begin to see the HUD's dots resolve into blobs, and those blobs become more human-like. The HYDRA horde was enormous, and they seemed to crash like a red wave on the island, rushing towards Strike Alpha. It was chaos down there, and he could clearly hear it over his com—tonal lock.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Firing the missiles as the quinjet burst through the dense cloud layers, he yanked up on the stick, while decloaking the aircraft, as he saw bright mushroom clouds of the missiles exploding about two hundred meters away from Strike Alpha. He got a tonal lock again, and fired four more missiles to push the HYDRA forces back some more. Stabbing a button on the console to switch over to the slaved rotary cannon, he swung the cannon around a full hundred eighty degrees.

“What the hell?!” he heard Barton hoarsely shout over the com.

“Fuck yeah, cavalry!” Quake had shouted at the same time.

“Alpha move!” Steve's counterpart ordered not a split second later.

Simultaneous to the rotation of the cannon, he brought the quinjet lower to the ground and smacked the button on the console to open the ramp. There was no time to think or to wallow on the fact that he could no longer assist anonymously – he had acted and gone down this path without hesitation.

_...you shaped the century..._

The quinjet hovered a few inches above the ground, as he faced the east side of the island. However, with the HUD displaying the view port of the cannon, he began firing towards the northwest, where HYDRA forces were recovering faster. Drones, soldiers clad in black with their weapons' muzzles glowing each time they fired, fell. He could feel the quinjet rock with the Strike team jumping up and boarding the aircraft, could barely hear their curt chatters and orders to move further into the quinjet, but he kept his eyes on the HUD – on the targets before him.

The door between the cockpit and cargo hold swished open, but Bucky continued to keep his eyes forward— “All in. Let's scram,” the curt, commanding tone of his counterpart stated over the brief influx of noise, as the door swished close just as quickly.

Bucky let go of the breath he didn't realize he had been holding; feeling relieved that the first person to have walked through that door had not been Steve. Decoupling the slaved controls of the rotary cannon, the targeting interface on the HUD split into two again as his counterpart sat in the copilot's seat and took control of the cannon. He punched the engines to full VTOL, just as the proximity alarms screamed again.

“Shit,” was all his counterpart stated as the HUD in front of them highlighted the incoming enemy aircrafts – four FX-35 in total, with the peripheral showing more incoming in a few minutes.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

He yanked the stick to the right, hearing someone squawk in exclamation over the com, sharply banking the quinjet as two missiles lanced across where they had been. It was useless to engage the cloak at this juncture; not when the torrential rain gave away their location, and not when they had already been seen.

Pushing the throttle to full again, the rumble of the cannon being fired vibrated throughout the cockpit, as he pushed the quinjet into a snap roll, evading another pair of missiles. Rolling up and over, he forced the quinjet into a climb – back up and through the storm. A quick glance over to the HUD told him that his counterpart had successfully downed one of the four. However, two of the remaining three had immediately peeled off, while their lone pursuer continued to fire at them.

_...you shaped the century..._

He kept up evasive maneuvers, yanking the stick this way and that, but his right hand briefly let go of the throttle and primed four more missiles for two firing pairs. Ahead, bursting out of a thick dark cloud, and illuminated by a brief flash of cloud-to-cloud lightning in the distance was the second jet. It was flying straight towards them, heedless of the bead of cannon fire that was being spat out from the one pursuing them from behind.

Tonal lock fizzled in and out as he fought to evade being hit from behind – Number 1 – he mentally termed, while his counterpart continued to try to nab the one in front of them – Number 2 – attempting to play 'chicken'. He knew that Number 1 and 2 were trying to force them to either fly up or down, as Number 3 was somewhere in the vicinity. Given how the FX-35s were built, he had to guess that Number 3 was waiting for them on the bottom, ready to pincer them from below if they took the orbital maneuver route.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

“Look sharp, one eighty on my mark!” he gruffly stated, as he grabbed the throttle again. He knew that the maneuver he was about to perform was quite possibly the craziest one he had ever done in any type of aircraft handling the Soviets had jammed into his mind.

“On it,” came the curt answer.

_...you shaped the century..._

“Mark!” he ordered, yanking the throttle back as far as it would go while nosing the quinjet into a downward spiral.

For a second, all he could hear was the drumbeats of the rotary cannon firing away – the rat-a-tat-tat rumble filling the entire cockpit. Then came the tonal lock, and a millisecond later, he jammed the throttle forward again, accelerating forward as two booms behind the quinjet were heard. Just as the shards of the ripped and raked Number 1 and Number 2 FX-35s started to fall around them like fiery metal droplets, Number 3 roared up through the clouds.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Bucky fired once—twice in quick succession. Two pairs of missiles streaked out almost one after the other. Number 3 evaded the first pair, but was not quick enough to evade the second pair – with the resultant explosion briefly lighting up the entire cockpit as the boom followed quickly. It was drowned out by the rumbling of thunder, but Bucky was already pulling the quinjet out of it's death spiral dive.

_...you shaped the century..._

Strangely, there was no sigh of relief, nor of the fatigue that seemed to settle in him after such a close call in becoming dust or from escaping. He engaged the cloaking mechanism, and guided the quinjet on a nor-by-nor-east flight path – out of the storm and over the Arctic. He also took a quick inventory of how many missiles and sleeves of bullets for the rotary cannon were left. They had expended a lot, but as he glanced at the global map being pulled up on the windshield HUD, the wave of red dots that had been a few minutes behind their four compatriots were being stymied by the storm.

“Take this route back to base,” Bucky heard his counterpart state, as navigation coordinates overlaid on the transparent map on the HUD highlighted the route. “Hopefully, no one will get antsy and try to take the Tesseract from Romanov before we get there.”

“Copy,” he answered with no inflection in his tone, shoving the strangeness of his lack of relief to the back of his mind for later contemplation. He banked the quinjet to the left in a less frantic maneuver, and glanced over towards his counterpart. He realized that his counterpart was absolutely sopping wet and soaked through. Water was still dripping from him, creating puddles everywhere in the cockpit.

“Heater?” he asked, surmising that everyone else back there was probably as soaked through as his counterpart, given the battle conditions at the skerry.

His counterpart barked in laughter, saying and gesturing, “Yeah, that dial there—”

“Did Director Carter call him in?”

Steve's voice through the still-connected earpiece in his ear, halted his actions for a brief moment in turning the dial indicated to change the temperature setting within the quinjet. He had heard, had remembered Steve being angry before – most of it a sort-of yelling rage at bullies, until Steve had learned to channel that anger into rallying war cries during the war. This ice cold tone Bucky heard unexpectedly sent uneasy chills down his back. He had never heard Steve speak like that before.

“What are you talking about, Steve?” he heard Steve's counterpart say, confused.

“This rifle is Soviet-made, and the bullets contain no rifling,” he heard Steve state. Bucky could imagine Steve sitting in the cargo hold, holding his sniper rifle in his hands, and quietly sighed. There was no way around it; his wish to remain anonymous was definitely not going to be granted.

“Scope is HYDRA tech from the 80's, and there's an oxygen mask. There's only one person I know who uses those kinds of bullets, _and_ can make that kind of shot on an LMD from a height that requires an oxygen supply, _and_ not hit the Cube, Stevie,” Steve continued to say. “So tell me, did Director Carter call him in?”

Bucky heard his counterpart get up, and glanced slightly back to see him activate the door and step through, though his counterpart remained at the threshold. “I did,” his counterpart stated. “I called him in.”

“What the hell--” Steve began, the coldness in his tone evaporating back into the familiar heated, angry tone that Bucky remembered.

“It was an operational decision--” his counterpart began, interrupting Steve in the same manner that Bucky remembered himself doing at times to try to defuse a rapidly escalating situation.

“Operational decision,” Bucky heard Romanov jump in, her tone flat with anger as well. “He was one command away, last we knew—”

Bucky sighed and flicked the autopilot on, before turning the dial for the heater up. Getting up, he prodded his counterpart forward and stepped through, immediately searching out and focusing his eyes on Steve. “They're gone. It's all gone, Steve,” he stated.

Silence that was answered only by the drip-drip noise of wet clothing, hair, and weapons shedding water, filled the cargo hold. Though the interior of the quinjet was illuminated, with the holographic map of the skerry and its surroundings still being projected, the hold seemed just slightly brighter with the Tesseract that Romanov was holding like a torch. The hand, flesh-colored, but having metal wires jutting out at the other end where it had been violently sheared off of the LMD, still held the glowing blue cube, but Romanov was holding it away from herself and the others.

Romanov sat nearest to the ramp on the port side of the quinjet, her wet blonde hair plastered to her head. She was seemingly holding out the robotic hand with the cube attached to it, as if she were threatening to drop it straight out of the quinjet. There was a bandage around her upper left arm, though it looked like she hadn't applied first aid to the still-bleeding cut near her forehead hairline yet.

A few seats next to her, near the middle of the cargo hold was Steve, looking thoroughly like a drowned rat, with surprisingly longer hair and a beard. He didn't look injured, but Bucky knew that appearances were deceiving when it came to injuries, and Steve showing those injuries. Sitting across Steve's lap was the sniper rifle. There was also a circular shield, similar – no, it was the same – in color as the metal arm Bucky currently wore, leaning against a jump seat. Bucky wondered when and where Steve received that shield.

Daisy Johnson was sitting nearest to the cockpit on the port side, looking just as soaked as her teammates. Her neck and right thigh had been bound with a thick layer of bandages, but it looked as if a bruise was forming along her right cheek. Her forearm bracers had been removed, and she had been in the middle of doing some wrist and hand stretches.

Steve's counterpart sat on the starboard side, almost directly across from Johnson. Like Steve, she did not look injured, but he knew better than to assume she had gotten out of that battle unscathed. Her shield, familiar-looking as it was thirteen stars in a circle with the concentric blue and red motif, was leaning against a jump seat. Bucky wondered when she had gotten that shield back, as he had assumed it had been lost when the Zephyr crashed.

To her left was Clint Barton, who looked to be the most bandaged up of all of them. The archer didn't looked to be bothered by his injuries though, and had been fiddling with his arrow heads before everything.

“Well, this is awkward,” he heard Barton quietly state into the silence, breaking it.

Just before the archer had stated that, Bucky had taken in the final member of Strike Alpha, sitting opposite of where Romanov sat. His suspicions were silently confirmed, but it was the uniform this other James Barnes, this other 'Bucky', was wearing that caused him to pause for a moment in his cursory assessment. There was no helmet on this other reality traveler's head, but the stars-and-stripes uniform, draped in a triangular shape, and then fitted to a dark metallic-like suit over his other counterpart _looked_ like a variant of what Steve or Steve's counterpart wore.

Bucky met the eyes of this other counterpart unflinchingly, though the split-second held gaze was enough for him to fully assess who and what the man was. He broke eye contact at almost the same time his other counterpart did, and focused his attention back on Steve. It was why he was here – for Steve, to protect Steve, and—

“Hey, Sarge,” Johnson followed up in a casual, friendly tone.

“желание, ржaвый, семнадцать, рассвет, печь, девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, один, грузовой вагон,” Romanov fired off at the same time in rapid succession. “ безразличие, незапятнанный, сумеречный, морозил—”

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

“They're all gone,” he repeated, interrupting the litany. Somehow he managed to tear his eyes away from the myriad of emotions – most of them variations of shock and hurt – flitting through Steve's eyes, and focused on Romanov. “None of the commands or shutdowns work anymore.”

He had not put any inflection in his tone, nor given any indication of being a threat, yet _both_ Romanov and Steve flinched ever so slightly at his words. It puzzled him, but out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his other counterpart's hands curl ever so slightly. While it wouldn't have been anything he would have associated with Steve or Romanov, that small movement was incredibly similar to the Red Room hand signal for 'I said the same thing'. It was a rarely used hand signal, as most operatives soloed on their mission, rarely gathering in groups of two or more to work together.

_...you shaped the century..._

There was no time to puzzle over the gesture, as an ear-piercing alarm seared across all com frequencies. He wasn't the only one to yank out the earpiece as the alarm died down, only to be replaced with, “Ma—day —ayday! Th— is Agen— Hunter! Mayday —day! —silo —under atta—”

The distress call fell abruptly silent, but Bucky was already turning back around and sat down in the pilot's seat, disengaging the autopilot. He didn't know who Agent Hunter was, as the transmission had been tinny and barely audible, but it was clear that the silo was under heavy attack. He was certain that similar protocols that Wakanda had implemented with their side of the silo, was done for the same. No SHIELD agent (or Inhuman, he hoped) would have dared broadcast or advertise the location, unless absolutely necessary.

Now though, it was clear that his, Steve's, and Romanov's way back to their reality was being threatened.

“Where are we?” he heard Steve's counterpart demand, as he glanced back to see her leaning into the cockpit, standing at the threshold. There was a clear and openly worried look on her face – something he had never seen on either her or Steve before.

His counterpart – normal mirror – he mentally labeled this reality's James Barnes, had also taken a seat in the copilot's chair, and pulled up a map. “Just flew over the Svalbard archipelago, approaching Zemlya Georga,” he heard his counterpart curtly answer. “Shit, we're the closest quinjet to the site.”

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

In response, Bucky banked the quinjet to the right, taking a quick mental calculation of their fuel reserves, engine speed, and distance to the silo. “ETA one hour,” he stated.

“Sergeant,” Steve's counterpart said, the tone of her voice laced with concern, “While enroute to us, did you pass by a quinjet with the IFF tag of Quebec-Juliet-Zulu-Mike-November-One-Six-Niner?”

“Saw it on peripheral radar, fifty miles or so from my position, while flying over the Barents Sea, ma'am,” he answered, focusing on the command quality of the tone of her voice, rather than the anxiousness that seemed to drown most of it out. “Heading was relative nor-by-nor-east.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she stated, and stepped away.

Bucky caught his counterpart's glance back towards the cargo hold out of the corner of his eyes. He didn't turn back himself, but kept his attention forward. It was not that he couldn't stand to look at either Steve or Steve's counterpart – he just didn't want to continue to see the hurt look in Steve's eyes. His counterpart shifted in his seat, getting up to lean against the threshold between the cockpit and the cargo hold, facing the cargo hold. While it provided a physical barrier for him, Bucky knew that his counterpart did not intend the action as so.

It was Steve's query of, “Stevie?” that was said before anyone else could question why she had asked him, Bucky, of the IFF tag that he remembered seeing as he flew towards the skerries.

“Keep the Cube with you at all times, Agent Romanov,” Steve's counterpart stated, the anxiousness all but gone from her tone. Bucky still heard it though – buried under the layers of confidence that seemed to be a little too forced.

“Daisy, what do we have for encrypted shielding?” she continued to say. “We need to let Carter know we're headed to the silo.”

“On it, ma'am,” Johnson crisply answered.

“What's in this 'silo' and why are we headed there?”

Bucky couldn't help but frown slightly as he continued to keep his eyes forward or roaming over the cockpit panels, taking in the scrolling numbers, speed, and falling ETA. Why he expected his other counterpart – true mirror – he mentally termed the man, to sound like his normal mirrored counterpart was slightly puzzling. Considering what he had gleaned from the mannerisms, outfit, and the way his broken mirrored counterpart held himself, he should have expected him to sound just like himself.

Exhausted. Broken. Damaged. Jaded. Despondent.

_...you shaped the century..._

“It's our way home,” he heard Romanov answer, before asking, “D'you happen to have something in that uniform of yours that can seal this in, Barnes? I'm assuming you weren't going return to your reality just holding it like that LMD did. I'm also not keen on running around with an explosive that can potentially level a city-block and a half, stuck out like an Olympic torch.”

“Speaking of which, how exactly _did_ you get here?” he heard his counterpart ask.

“Take this,” he heard his other counterpart state, but didn't hear any noise of the sort that indicated what was being exchanged. “Press it against the cube, and it will form a vibranium containment compartment around it, Natalia.”

If Bucky's frown could get any deeper, it tried to. That inflection of Romanov's given aliased name, stated in the Russian form had just a hint of an American accent to distinguish it from its true pronunciation. It gave him another avenue of insight into this counterpart of his, and it made him not angry at the man, but a little more angry at the world. Another Winter Soldier existed, another James Barnes had fallen across realities. It was no wonder the normal mirror of himself had deemed their other counterpart a 'negative influence' on Steve.

All any of them had done to any Steven or Stephanie Rogers was to continuously hurt them, either unintentionally with their actions.

Was this his or his counterparts' actions and fates, the only path in life?

Did they—did he always have to break his newest of promises to keep his oldest promise?

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

If this true mirror wearing a variant of the Captain American uniform was going to answer their counterpart's question as to how exactly he had appeared here, he didn't get to, as Johnson suddenly piped up with, “Ma'am, I can get level four shielding activated, but it's weird – everything in here doesn't have any passcodes for me to crack. It's like a naked system, ready for anyone to waltz in. I didn't see any obvious booby traps in key areas, so it looks like nothing's been tampered with. Logs showed that it went through maintenance a few days ago before a team rotated to the silo and parked it there. I mean, Sarge probably just walked right in and activated all systems without a passcode, right?”

Bucky caught his counterpart's glance over at him, and he silently nodded in affirmation. “He says yes,” his counterpart answered for him, returning his attention to those in the cargo hold.

“Dammit,” he heard Steve's counterpart softly curse. “Don't activate the shielding, and don't touch anything else in the system.”

“Fitz?” he heard his counterpart question.

“Don't know,” came the answer. “But I don't think so. The AI is supposed to be completely isolated.”

“Stevie, I know you want to think that the AI is reformed, but--” Barton began.

“Wait,” Steve spoke up. “Didn't you say that if the LMDs from your reality are killed, they're able to jump into anything that has a significant amount of electronic storage?”

Bucky wasn't quite sure what Steve was talking about, but he had heard enough of the discussions that Shuri sometimes had with the other researchers in publicly televised science conferences between Wakanda and other countries, to have a general idea of what was being said. The fact that he knew what LMDs were – given that a very public attempt at assassinating a US military leader by a LMD that looked like Daisy Johnson had happened in his reality, told him that this 'jump' capability was bad.

“There's not enough storage capacity in that arm, Rogers,” he heard his other counterpart state. Even in as tense of a situation as this had now become with the silo's distress call – not to mention that it was also burying everything else down for the moment – Bucky heard an underlying hostility in his other counterpart's tone. “The LMD wouldn't have—”

He glanced over as soon as he heard his counterpart straighten himself, taking a half step forward as if he were about to confront their mutual counterpart, before hearing Romanov state in a cold tone, “Back off, Barnes. Right now.”

As alarmed as he was as to whatever was happening in that cargo hold, it seemed Romanov had the situation contained. The sounds of others shifting or moving in the cargo hold quieted down as Romanov continued to say, “You said so yourself, that LMD had been here observing for a while – maybe even before Captain Barnes's undercover assignment. Considering the foul-up, what's to say that the LMD doesn't know that the silo and the 0-8-4 that powers the connection between two realities exist?”

Silence answered her question, before he heard his true mirrored counterpart quietly state, “Nothing.”

“Fucking hell, then she probably got all of us running after this stupid Cube--” he heard his normal mirrored counterpart begin.

“Enough,” Steve's counterpart spoke up. “Look, we all messed up. We all got tunnel vision, we all got compromised because we all thought we could outsmart the LMD. Best we can do now is get to the silo and make sure that whatever the hell is going there – trap or not – is dealt with.”

“So what can we expect?” Steve asked, his tone all business.

Any hint of conflict, strife, anger, hurt, or otherwise was gone – tucked away to the corners of Steve's mind. It was as familiar to Bucky as if he had just been fighting with Steve at his side; as if the last few years of this nightmare that he had been living through were just a dream. Those words sent him back to the days of the war, of a time as perilous, but relatively happier times – and he found himself wanting to cling onto it as tightly as he could.

_...you shaped the century..._

“Please tell me no more of those MODOK things?” Barton asked. “The bastards are hard to kill.”

“What's a MODOK?” Bucky couldn't help but quietly ask, glancing up towards his counterpart.

“Big boxy-looking thing with stubby legs and arms. Apparently extremely fast in response time,” his counterpart answered just as quietly, as he saw him gesture with his hands and arms in giving him an estimated size of it. “You got the last two with your death from above shots.”

“I don't know,” his other counterpart stated. “What forces did you have stationed there?”

“There's a fairly strong contingent of Inhumans stationed at the silo,” Johnson spoke up, returning both of their attentions to the planning at hand. “You got Inhumans in your reality, sir?”

“We used to,” the man answered. “Skull's forces wiped all of them out using conventional weapons. Had the public's support for such an action, after he demonstrated the 'threat' they posed.”

“The Red Skull had _public_ support?” Steve asked, incredulity in his tone.

“Yeah. He did,” came the short answer.

“Boys. Ease up,” Romanov cut in, before tempers could explode.

Never mind that Bucky was still trying to process that the Red Skull was alive in some other reality and had full support of the public in all of his actions. It was already enough that in his reality, during the war, the SSR had discovered and exploited Intelligence that said that there were some Nazi dissenters to the Skull's growing power, but the public? That reality that his true mirror came from sounded a whole hell lot worse than this current reality that had had Madam Hydra ruling it.

“Anything jump out at you when you crossed, Barnes?”

It took Bucky a moment to realize that Romanov's question was directed at him. It was with a slight sense of irony and exasperation that he also realized that she was not going to differentiate between the three of them whenever addressing them. He knew that he could continue to stay in the cockpit, seemingly 'flying' the quinjet, when he knew damn well that he could put it on autopilot and join the others in the cargo hold for the planning. His counterpart, the normal mirror, was only standing at the threshold to keep the door open so that he could listen in.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Putting on the autopilot, but noting the time left they had until they were at the site, Bucky gestured for his counterpart to go ahead. Stepping into the cargo hold, but taking up the spot where his counterpart vacated, he saw that the holographic projection of the skerry battlefield had been replaced. It was hand-drawn, crude-looking, but fairly accurate representation of the silo and the floors that it contained. He could only assume that someone, not Steve, had drawn the schematics.

“No,” Bucky answered, shaking his head slightly. “The majority of the Inhumans and SHIELD agents were gathered here—” he pointed to the area where the portal was located, “—and here.” The secondary area was at the elevator. “Fifteen in each area. Nine Inhumans, six agents at the elevator. Four Inhumans and eleven agents at the portal.”

“All right,” Steve's counterpart stated as Barton highlighted the areas indicated and placed the appropriate markers on the crude map. “We're going to have to account for the fact that the portal might have been closed. Priority will be to secure that 0-8-4. We'll scan and determine the entry points once we get there, but plan to rappel up and down.”

_...you shaped the century..._

“So plan on for those killer bio-mechanical things?” Barton asked, fiddling with one of his arrowheads before planting it and the shaft back into the quiver on his back.

“They don't blend in well,” Bucky's other counterpart stated. “If these shaft sizes are the relative size they are – they'll also not fit. If whomever attacked your silo is from my reality's HYDRA, I think we're looking at AIM and regular forces. Both are good at overwhelming an area, regardless of the defensive measures put in place.”

“You can say that again,” he heard Johnson mutter.

“All right, if we're going down the elevator route, split into pairs and cover these routes to the central area,” Steve's counterpart stated, highlighting four winding routes. None of them lead directly to the central area of the silo, but they were good choke points in defensive and offensive measures. A similar spread of routes were also highlighted for the missile entrance area, as she continued to say, “If through the missile bay, then we'll use these routes. Any survivors, call out, patch them if possible, and get them top side ASAP. The rest of us will secure that 0-8-4.”

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Bucky kept the frown from appearing on his face. He was beginning to get an inkling as to how Romanov's original mission here went completely south, considering the priority of orders. It still did not completely wipe away the odd worry he could see in Steve's counterpart's eyes.

It was the activation of the weapons lockers in within the quinjet that drew his attention away. “There's not much, Stevie,” he heard his counterpart state. “Looks like whatever team flew this quinjet in hauled all the heavies into the silo.”

“We'll make do,” came the answer. “Call signs are still the same as before, except—” Bucky met her gaze for a moment, as she paused before saying, “Well... your usual ones are all taken, Bucky.”

“Sarge?” Johnson immediately suggested.

“How about White Wolf? You told me that the kids sometimes call you that.”

He glanced over towards his counterpart and shrugged – he had no opinion on the name that the children had given him. That shrug also managed to cover his slight surprise at the unstated affirmation that his counterpart was willing to be held culpable to all of his friends for keeping the fact that he, Bucky, had had the commands removed for a while, secret. While Bucky knew that he shouldered most of the burden and blame, he didn't understand why his counterpart decided to stand 'shoulder to shoulder' with him, rather than leave him to face the consequences alone.

It seemed that the others took his indifference to the name as an affirmation, though it didn't escape his notice that Steve's lips thinned ever so slightly, as he saw him clench his jaw and look away from them for a moment. He pushed his regretful remorse down, wishing that a part of him was still able to ruthlessly squash such a feeling, as he did not need it to eat away at him right now.

“White Wolf it is, then,” Steve's counterpart confirmed.

_...you shaped the century..._

Sensing that this was going to be the only opportunity he had to leave before being swept up into some possible confrontation with Steve, he turned and returned to the pilot's seat. It was either fortune or otherwise coincidence that the familiar snow-covered landscapes of the Siberian tundra were beginning to appear over the horizon. Strapping himself in, he flicked the appropriate switches as he disengaged the autopilot again, and took control of the stick and throttle.

The sounds of someone settling into the copilot's seat and the door swishing close, caused him to briefly glance over to see his counterpart sitting there. “Why'd you do it?” he couldn't help but ask, curiosity more than anything else pushing him to do so.

“Would you believe the simple excuse of: because it was eventually going to come out that I've been talking to you for all of these months, Sergeant?”

This time, he turned his head towards his counterpart, throwing him a candid, frank, and open look of disdain. “Really? That's not an excuse.”

Bucky saw him quietly sigh while bringing the weapons systems back online, saying, “Between you, our mutual counterpart who looks to have been forced into the role of Captain America, and everything that I have done in my life thus far, I think it's pretty clear.”

“That...” he began.

“That even with all the paths we've taken in our lives, the Winter Soldier is the only path we all have traversed. We all served and were used by HYDRA in some capacity. I'm just better at hiding the scars than either of you, at the moment, and I... It's becoming more difficult for me to hide it, the longer this war against HYDRA continues.”

Bucky was silent for a few moments, as he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed at his counterpart. He had thought that his counterpart had a hell of a better relationship with Stephanie Rogers, and he, Bucky, had with Steve at the moment. “I still hate you,” he finally stated.

His counterpart snorted, shaking his head slightly before saying, “The feeling is mutual.”

“Stars-and-stripes out there probably also hates both of us--” he began, but the flashing of an orange cautionary call across the HUD silenced him.

His eyes immediately focused on the immediate horizon as he guided the quinjet over a mountain range, and through a thick bed of clouds. What greeted his sight below was billowing plumes of black smoke, climbing out of blackened craters. Gouged out holes that looked more like multiple blasts of ground mines, along with debris still on fire littered the area. There was no sign of any quinjets parked within the vicinity, but considering the carnage, he could only surmise that the aircrafts had all been blown up.

What had been the elevator entrance looked more like slagged rock than anything else, as he carefully navigated their way through the area, trying to not let the falling snow and smoke give away their position under the cloak. He heard movement in the copilot's seat before the door swished open.

“Stevie, you'd better see this,” he heard his counterpart state. All traces of what they had been discussing a few minutes ago was gone – their mutual professionalism as soldiers overtaking them.

Footsteps approached, and as Bucky continued to navigate towards the missile entrance, he heard Steve's counterpart order, “Park the bird down there, Sergeant, next to the fuselage of that quinjet, and decloak. The smoke in the area should be able to hide us for now.”

“Wilco,” he answered, guiding the quinjet down to the area indicated.

The sounds of those in the cargo hold getting ready for the mission briefly filled the cockpit before the door swished close again with Steve's counterpart's departure. It returned a few moments later as he heard Romanov ask, “Mind if we distribute the grenade launcher and sub-machine gun, Barnes?”

Bucky glanced up for a moment to see her holding the grenade launcher in a casual fashion. Of his memories about Natasha Romanov, the most prominent one that always stood out to him was the boldness that she had displayed in assassinating her predecessor. Thus he knew that he shouldn't have been surprised to see her treat this mission with her usual open confidence as the Black Widow.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

“Take these,” he stated, reaching into his waist belt compartments and pulled out the clips for the sub-machine gun. He handed it to her, and saw that she passed it along to someone else in the cargo hold. “And this as well,” he followed up, taking out one of the two pistols he carried and gave it to her. He split up the clips for the two pistols and handed it to her as well.

Focusing back on landing the quinjet, he heard his counterpart get up and follow Romanov back into the cargo hold. Just as the door swished close, he heard him ask, “Are you ever going to differentiate between the three of us, Romanov, or are you just going to call all of us 'Barnes' every single time?”

He didn't hear the answer, but as the quinjet settled down, unmolested by any ambush of the sorts, he powered down the aircraft. Considering the damage done to the outside, his concern for the inside of the silo was growing with each passing second. It was highly likely that the 0-8-4 that connected their two worlds together was either destroyed or shut off. He wanted to give hope that perhaps some agent or Inhuman down there had shut it off, but that was a bleak kind of hope to have.

Getting up, he steeled his mind, focusing on the mission, and entered the cargo hold. Everyone around him was doing final weapons check, as the center projection was showing no visible contacts through the IFF for at least a few hundred meters around them. As his eyes quickly took in the controlled chaos, he saw that there was a nervousness in Steve's counterpart that was trying to be buried with her controlled actions.

He thought back to the quinjet IFF number – that quinjet had been heading in the relative direction of the silo. However, he didn't ask for the reason or its importance, as his eyes finally sought out and spotted where his sniper rifle was. Three steps was all it took to close the distance to retrieve it.

Bucky didn't say a word as Steve wordlessly handed him the rifle. He did notice that it was Steve who was using one of the two Glock 17's he had originally handed over to Romanov. There was nothing on Steve's expression to give away what he was feeling or thinking about, though.

Bucky slung it over his back, and turned away from him as Romanov hit the button to lower the ramp. He heard Steve pick up the shield, but didn't look back. He knew that somewhere under that mask of professionalism, Steve was hurting. As much as it made him feel guilty – he knew that it was his fault alone – now was not the time to apologize.

_...you shaped the century..._

As eerily quiet as it was, with the only sound being a nearly soundless crunch of boots on the snow, nothing jumped out at them as they all descended the quinjet and fanned out. He immediately approached the burnt out husk of the missile entrance. Light snow swirled around him, as the bitterly cold breeze seemed to seep into his bones. If the others were cold in their damp clothing, they didn't show their discomfort.

Quietly and quickly approaching the entrance, he passed through the acrid, billowing black smoke with little fanfare, eyes barely watering as the snapping cold evaporated the tears. Romanov flanked him, eyes ahead and listening just as carefully as he did, as the two of them stopped at the lip of what was left of the missile dome. Panning the rifle downwards, he could barely see anything beyond the first twenty meters or so down into the launch shaft.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

“Well,” he heard Romanov say as the _clink_ of the rappelling anchor line was snapped against the far wall. He glanced up to see his other counterpart give the 'okay' signal for a good attachment. A closer noise indicated that the line was pulled taut and anchored to the side closest to them. She lowered the pistol that had shot the ends out, saying, “Express train to hell, coming right up.”

“Nat?” Steve's voice softly called out from behind them as the barely heard crunch of Steve's boots in the snow indicated that he was approaching. “Stevie and I will go first—”

_...you shaped the century..._

Either he and his true mirror counterpart were of the same mind, or otherwise – it didn't really matter at the moment. He grabbed one of the hanging lines just a split-second after his other counterpart did, and jumped down into the shaft.

The descent was fast, as he barely used the mechanism or his metal arm to slow his fall, except to arrest it just before he hit the ground. Tossing the line away from him, he stepped out and away, opposite of his other counterpart. Listening carefully, he went ahead and cleared out the area before approaching the lone exit-entrance of the missile shaft. The noise of Romanov lightly landing, followed by the slightly heavier, but just as soft landing of Steve told him that the others were making their way down.

His other counterpart had already opened the door, clearing the sides before Bucky saw the Red Room signal for him to take the left corridor. Who actually was in command of the team was a little convoluted, but at the moment, he didn't care. They all had to spread out and quickly clear the area anyways.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Slipping out to the left, he heard footsteps behind him, and wasn't surprised when Steve overtook him. He instinctively slipped into the right hand side of Steve, pistol poised at the same height and position as he usually held rifles. The memories were there for him to reach out and touch, but—

“We got a body here, Air,” he heard Barton whisper over com. “Or at least what's left of a body. It's been dismembered, and all we got here is a torso.”

“We can follow the blood path, but I'm guessing that it'll lead us directly to the main area,” his counterpart's voice followed up Barton's assessment. “No idea what tore it apart.”

Grim silence answered the two, before Steve's counterpart's stated, “Push on and double-time it. Let's hope we can find some survivors.”

Acknowledgments answered her order, and almost as one, both he and Steve moved forward and through the corridors in a faster manner while keeping their footsteps as quiet as possible. Neither of them saw any of what was described over com, but the stillness in the air where there should have been at least the almost negligible sound of air circulating throughout, didn't sit well with him. There should have been a hum, some sort of noise, however foreign or machine-like it was. This silence was eerie.

_...you shaped the century..._

“You smell that?” Steve's whispered question to him as they turned down the final corridor that would lead them into the main area.

“Yeah,” he answered.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

The overwhelming stench of blood, oil, and sharp ozone that seemed snap the very life out of flames hit both of them. Yet, neither of them stopped as they crossed the threshold and came face-to-face with a gruesome sight: the bodies of almost all of the SHIELD agents and Inhumans that guarded the silo were littered across the entire area. Streaks and smears of blood, along with blackened areas, bullet casings, and scores of broken and crumpled machinery, shards of glass, scattered rifles, pistols, and other items were strewn about. Mixed into the debris were pieces of flesh, along with what looked like limbs and heads that had been torn savagely from their bodies by monsters.

_...you shaped the century..._

Bucky remembered the sight of the dead children, of the soldiers who instantly died when they had been torn apart by mortar fire or grenades. He remembered carrying the frozen children, remembered catching his fellow soldiers as they fell, only for their bodies to be vaporized by HYDRA's Tesseract weapons. He remembered the sights, smells, and the screams of the dying ringing in his ears – so frightened—they were all so frightened and too damn young to die—

“Sharon!”

He snapped out of the fugue he had fallen into, blinking as he saw Steve's counterpart emerge from the right, running towards the center, where the ramps built up had formerly led to the active portal. Said area was completely blackened with what looked to have been an explosive blast in the center. He thought he saw a slight movement at the ramp from one of the bodies, but at this angle, he couldn't tell.

Steve moved forward as well, and this time, Bucky was a full second behind in responding to Steve's movements. However, with the others emerging from whatever corridors they had traversed through, continuing to flank Steve was becoming a moot point. He moved along the outer perimeter of the area, approaching Romanov and his other counterpart – both of whom had grim expressions on their faces.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

He made the Red Room signal for 'trap', and got an acknowledgment from both of them in return. This entire place, even if it was a slaughterhouse for most of the SHIELD agents and Inhumans, felt like a trap. He remembered that as bombastic as the Red Skull was in his reality, the war waged between the SSR and HYDRA leaned heavily on deception and pinpoint strike attacks – even in the modern times. Leaving one agent alive to send a message was something that he knew that HYDRA would do, but was this really the work of another reality's HYDRA? Or was it a HYDRA resurgent in this reality?

_...you shaped the century..._

A retching noise had Bucky pausing for a moment in his slow perimeter walk. He turned his head slightly towards the noise as he carefully stepped around the bodies and puddles of blood and oil. Johnson had a hand splayed out against some metal structure that had been destroyed until it resembled a twisted piece of metal. She was heaving and looking quite ill, and he could only surmise that she was reacting to what laid before all of them.

He turned away as he saw that his counterpart was tending to Johnson, though that was interrupted with Steve's counterpart asking, “Where's Caroline? Where is she, Sharon?”

“S-s-s...” Sharon stuttered, her voice weak, as Bucky glanced over to see that Steve and Steve's counterpart were working on trying to patch up the agent with a tiny medical kit. From this new angle, it looked like a futile effort to Bucky, as he could clearly see that Carter had lost a lot of blood.

“T-taken,” Sharon breathed out. “T-took... her... p-portal.”

“So she's safe? Steve's reality's Wakanda took her to safety?”

“No,” Sharon whimpered. “Skull... c-called himself... Red—”

“The Red Skull was here?!” his other counterpart demanded, as Bucky saw him quickly approach those in the center.

There was no answer, but he did see his normal mirrored counterpart move from where he was to intercept their stars-and-stripes clad counterpart before he could continue to verbally accost Steve and the others. However, it seemed that either his true mirrored counterpart was fully aware of his actions or otherwise, the intercept was aborted. Bucky wanted to look away, to continue to examine the perimeter and see how and where this trap they were in would spring, but his sense of unease suddenly grew.

“What the hell does your reality's Red Skull want with _my_ daughter?!”

“I don't know! He's after the Cube, after power for whatever the hell he needs those things for!” he heard his other counterpart vehemently state. “This 0-8-4 portal that connects two worlds – it's possibly an item he wanted, pinpointed via his LMD, and—”

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Bucky turned ever so slightly to the left, ignoring whatever argument was taking shape, even though the panic in Steve's counterpart's tone was making him worried. However, the deep-seated unease that had bloomed ten-fold in the last few seconds, had suddenly sent his instincts screaming at him to evade—

_...you shaped the century..._

He looked up – just as the shadows in the high, concrete and steel ceiling above him dropped.

_...and I need you to do it one more time..._

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those using the metric system, Bucky's sniper shot at the Cosmic Cube was made ~2 km from the east, and ~8 km above sea level. English units: ~1.24 miles from the east, ~26,000 feet above sea level. It's subtle in their POVs across all three 'modern era' fics, but for most of the time Bucky perceives his world in the metric system, while Steve sees the world in the English system.


	11. Memory: Один единственный

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17 Jan 2019 - This particular memory takes place between the two WWII stories: **In the Line of Duty** (Story 2) and **The Lines Like Dust** (Story 4), respectively. Two original characters (David Brewster and Emily Hattersfield), introduced in **In the Line of Duty** , play a slightly more prominent role in this memory.
> 
> A quick backstory on them and their roles in the SSR are: David Brewster = engineer working under the employment of Howard Stark, and Emily Hattersfield = code breaker working under Peggy's command. The two became friends with both Bucky and Peggy after the events of **In the Line of Duty**. Their fates are mentioned in the epilogue of **Winter's Ghost** (Story 3, posted as 2nd in the series as of this date).
> 
> This particular memory also makes an oblique reference to the Agent Carter TV Series, specifically Season 1, Episode 5, where viewers find out about Howard Stark's potential cover up at the Battle of Finow.

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**Один единственный** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Late Afternoon & Evening, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front & SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

Bucky had worse ideas before, but even he had to admit that executing this particular idea – his one and only contribution to the chaos that the rest of the Howling Commandos were already sowing – was a little more than idiotic. It was downright crazy, given that it actually worked. He would have stayed longer in his position, watching the great fireball from the explosion send more of the Krauts scurrying like ants, except--

_Ptwot! Ptwot!_

Flinching involuntarily in response to the sniper shots that struck the trunk to his right, and branch that he was perched on, he immediately slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder. Quickly climbing down, ignoring the stings of shards of heated wood biting into his hands, arms, and face as the Kraut snipers continued to fire at his former position and tracked his progress down the tree. He kept his eyes down on the ground, and as soon as he was sure that he wouldn't break any bones, he jumped the rest of the way down.

Landing on the ground in a crouch that turned into a tucked roll, Bucky hissed in pain as the impact was quite hard on his legs. However, he did not have time to linger as the Kraut snipers continued to fire upon him. What little was left of the enemy ground forces were alerted to his presence as he tore through the tall wheat field, running towards the tree line.

He zigzagged his way through, feeling the heat of bullets from the snipers missing him by a hair, while others closer from the ground troops bit at his heels. In hindsight now, it had been a pretty stupid idea, but it was well worth--

_Wham!_

~~~

“Yeah, and so, Cap comes charging in from like the east, and down goes Barnes for the count, like a spilled sack of grain!”

“Hey!” Bucky protested as the flare of shuffled cards, barely heard over the laughter of his friends and fellow Commandos, along with others from the SSR sitting around the table in the pub, filled the air. As DumDum doled out the cards for this new round, Bucky continued to say, “You take that jeep that we rode back today--” he paused to take a swig out of the mug of ale sitting next to the cards he received “--and _you_ try getting hit by it at thirty. That's what it feels like to be bowled over by Steve.”

“Like a bowling pin,” Morita stated, grinning as he took two gulps from his mug before setting it down.

Bucky shook his head in exasperation as his fellow Commandos laughed, though he did not take offense to what was being said. He took another swig out of his mug before taking up his cards and quickly peeked at what hand he was dealt before placing it back down. It wasn't a bad hand at all, as he reached over and tossed a few bills and coins into the center for his beginning bet for this round.

One of the women from the code breaker pool who sat in, watching the card game, cooed, “That must have hurt a lot, being hit like that, Bucky. Does it still hurt? I can fetch some ice from the bartender--”

“Nah,” he answered, glancing up and flashing the pretty blonde haired young woman – Amelia, he reminded himself – an appreciative yet playful smile. “Thanks for the offer, Amelia, but it's just my pride that was bruised.”

~~~

He hit the ground hard, jolts of pain lancing up and down his body, but not as hard as he would have thought it should have hurt. Most of the impact was stymied with the tumbling roll over mud and wheat stalks being snapped off, and by the body that curled protectively around him. Still, his breath was forcibly knocked out of him, as both he and Steve finally slid to a halt.

Coughing out a breath as he wheezed ever so slightly, he found himself staring up at a seemingly endless pool of worried blue-green eyes peering out from the cowled helmet that Steve wore. They were facing each other with nearly their noses touching. Mud and brambles of grass and wheat stalks decorated the sides of Steve's helmet as he found himself pinned to the ground by the virtue of Steve using his weight, and half-straddling him to make him stay there.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out, the edges of his lips quirking up in amusement, as he remembered a similar role reversal back in their teenage years.

At the moment though, he couldn't help but wonder why he was having some slight trouble catching his breath, and why there seemed to be an odd, but small fluttering sensation in his stomach. Steve hadn't slammed into him that hard, and he hadn't felt anything in his body break – other than the bruising that he knew that was going to form from the impact on the ground.

Neither he nor Steve got to say anything else as Steve suddenly reached up and over and drew his shield from his back, and brought it down. Bullets ricocheted off of it, and as soon as there was a break in the gunfire, Steve's full weight on top of him was immediately gone. Bucky attempted to haul himself up from being pressed so firmly against the muddy ground of the field, never mind that his sniper rifle was stuck in the mud as well.

He turned his head towards the left, as he saw Steve charge in, slamming his shield into a Kraut that had managed to stumble into them. Said Kraut never stood a chance as he saw the soldier go flying backwards, landing somewhere in the field. The shouts of “Waaahoo!” from DumDum and the bursts of gunfire echoing throughout the area that fell silent a few moments later, told him that the rest of the Howling Commandos had killed what was left of the Kraut regiment.

~~~

“Crazy heroics aside, Barnes,” Falsworth stated, as Bucky saw him place his mug of ale down, “your actions did allow the rest of us to mop them up. So, thanks.”

“For blowing my well-placed explosives up,” Jones followed up, chuckling.

A 'your welcome' would have been in order, but Bucky was not too keen on stating that at the moment, even though it would have been an appropriate thing to say. Rather, he tilted his head ever so slightly, observing the pot, before flicking his eyes to the cards that Falsworth had lying on the table, and then to Jones's tapping finger on top of his cards. The conversational buzz of the audience consisting mostly of SSR personnel and a few off duty MPs, were still going, but it seemed that it too was slowly dying as the game seemed to take on a more serious turn.

Two of the engineers who worked for Stark, David Brewster and Niall Meigs, had already folded this round. Pinkerton and Sawyer had also folded, as had Morita and Dernier. It was only him, along with Falsworth, Jones, and DumDum as the dealer for this round, left. Considering what DumDum's dealer cards showed, he knew that Falsworth was trying to make him fold. That complement given was supposed to be an opening for the Englishman to read him and his actions.

“Barnes?” Jones prompted after a few seconds of silence.

“I ain't folding, Falsworth,” Bucky drawled, making sure to put forth the thickest Brooklyn accent as possible as he decided to call Falsworth out for his attempt to deceive him.

He had tried to ditch as much of the accent as possible while working in the Naval Shipyards in Brooklyn, finding that he was better understood and listened to without it. As an added bonus to further infuriate the Englishman, he smirked at Falsworth. The reaction was worth it, as Bucky saw Falsworth's eyebrows twitch at being caught out.

“Goddammit,” Falsworth muttered, looking quite annoyed as a few people standing behind the Englishman murmured some words while others chuckled at his expense in reading the table and players incorrectly.

~~~

“You all right, Buck?”

Bucky gritted his teeth but managed to keep most of the pain he was feeling all over his body, from showing. He grabbed the offered right hand, using Steve as a levered brace to help him stand up. “Yeah,” he managed to say, letting go of his best friend's gloved hand and clapping him on the side of his arm. “No thanks to your tackle, punk. Tell me that wasn't revenge for what I did to you when we were fifteen?”

“That wasn't revenge,” Steve answered.

Bucky blinked, not sure if the lack of inflection in Steve's tone meant that it was sincere or not, but Steve wasn't paying too much attention to him. “Looks like we got all of them,” he said, pushing that moment of doubt aside.

“Looks like it,” Steve answered, adjusting his grip on the shield on his left forearm, while also looking around.

“You know, you're heavier than I remembered,” he began, forcing himself to crouch down to yank his poor mud-covered sniper rifle out of the ground.

That somehow caught Steve's full attention, as he saw him turn around, looking slightly alarmed, saying, “Oh God, I didn't _hurt_ you did I? I mean, I remembered the last time you tackled me, and then based on that, I tried to calculate the speed and--”

“Steve,” he said, forcing himself to stand back up as naturally as he could. “You didn't.” As an emphasis, he tapped the center of his chest with left two fingers, saying, “I'm fine. All you did was hurt and dirty Vera.” He held up his sniper rifle, trying not to openly wince at the fact that he would have to take apart his beloved rifle all the way down to the tiniest screw to clean and repair it.

It seemed that his deflection was enough to alleviate Steve's concerns, as he saw him nod, saying, “I'm sorry about the rifle.”

No more was exchanged by the two of them as the rest of the Howling Commandos pushed their way through the tall wheat field, rendezvousing with him and Steve. The mission was complete, even if it had gone slightly off the proverbial rails towards the end of the frenetic chaos they had induced on the Krauts. It was now time to go back to base.

~~~

“That's it, I'm done. It's getting too hot here,” Bucky heard Jones state, and saw the black man toss his cards at DumDum before leaning back, shaking his head. “These two know something that I don't, and I don't wanna add fuel to the fire.”

“Well?” DumDum asked, giving Bucky a pointed look.

Bucky considered his options, as he stared at Falsworth for a moment before deciding to take the gamble. Pushing every single bill and coin that he had into the center, he said, “All in.”

A chorus of 'ooooo's and some gasps answered his declaration. Even young Emily Hattersfield, who was sitting slightly behind David on Bucky's right, had leaned in from where she was sitting. Bucky couldn't help but grin, as he saw an excited look upon Peggy's protege. He was glad that she was enjoying herself.

“Falsworth?” DumDum questioned, as all eyes riveted to the Englishman.

“Challenge accepted,” Falsworth said, as Bucky saw a challenging smile on the man's face. “And as an added measure. How about we up the ante by issuing a written challenge for either of us to perform, depending on who wins?”

He barked in laughter, saying, “Now you're speaking my language. Challenge most definitely accepted.”

“Hey Bartender!” Jones called out. “We need pen and paper here! We got some fightin' words to write!”

Both Bucky and Falsworth got up from where they were sitting and moved through the gathered crowd to the bar, rather than wait for the bartender to give them the tools. The crowd was definitely bigger than what the night had started out with, as it seemed that word had spread throughout the SSR of what 'high-stakes' game was going on at the pub. Still, neither of them were long to sit at the bar, as the audience was impatiently waiting for the finale to be revealed.

He quickly wrote down the challenge and folded up the piece of paper twice. Returning to the table at the same time as Falsworth did, he took his seat, grinning at the excited and raucous cheers that those around them gave. It felt like one of the illegal underground matches, even though no blood had been shed, and it helped boost his confidence.

“Here you go, Falsworth,” he said, dramatically putting down the paper on the table and sliding it over, tapping his fingers twice on the piece.

“And this is for you, Barnes,” Falsworth did the same, almost laughing his words out before managing to compose himself. “May the best player win.”

Bucky's answer was to let go of his challenge and reach over to pull Falsworth's challenge towards him. He didn't look at it and merely set it to the side, mirroring the Englishman's movements as he picked his cards back up, keeping them face down and close to the table top. Glancing over at DumDum, he tilted his head slightly to indicate that he should get on with showing the final card as the dealer for this round.

“All right, gents,” DumDum said, chomping on his cigar and dealt the final card, as a hush fell over the area.

Bucky suppressed the smile that was threatening to erupt on his face as he caught Falsworth's eyes on him. The same blank expression that was on the Englishman's face was mirrored on his – he knew how to keep his emotions from giving anything away. The game was still on, and neither of them looked to budge in acquiescing to show their cards yet.

“On the count of three, show your cards,” DumDum stated, reaching with both hands out towards them, as if he were about to snatch the cards up himself and force them to show it. “One... two... three--”

He turned his cards over at the same time the Englishman did. As the three leaned back to see what the result, it seemed that those gathered around them leaned forward to stare. Bucky let the smile he had been holding back appear in full, as he compared the hands that he and Falsworth had been dealt with and what DumDum had on the table as the dealer.

He had won.

“Christ, I really hate you sometimes, Barnes,” Falsworth stated, acquiescing to defeat.

Not a split-second later, the entire table erupted in cheers, laughter, and shouting, as Bucky felt himself being embraced by some of the women standing behind him, while being back slapped by others, including a very hearty one by Morita on his left. Even Emily did not hesitate in giving him a quick peck on the cheek, causing his eyebrows to raise just slightly in surprise. He glanced over to his right to see David looking astonished as well, before the young engineer couldn't help but smile at just how flushed red Emily had become.

It was slightly odd, but he didn't dwell on it, as he knew that Emily meant nothing by that gesture. She was committed to protecting David, as David was to her, after he, Bucky, had shown them just how dangerous their world really was. He could only surmise that she had performed the gesture mainly because she perhaps had had a little too much to drink during the night.

“Not the first time someone's said that to me, Falsworth,” he stated over the din, returning his attention to what was in front of him. He snatched up the paper that Falsworth had handed him and tucked it into a pocket. “So, my feelings aren't hurt,” he continued, grinning at the Englishman as he began to meticulously pick up and organize the pot of money sitting in the center of the table.

“So, when do you want me to perform this challenge, Barnes?” Falsworth asked, picking up the piece of paper between two fingers, but did not open it just yet.

“Next briefing, if possible,” he stated, his grin turning into a full blown smile as he saw abject horror over take Falsworth's expression.

“The hell are you having him do, Barnes?” Morita asked, looking a little alarmed, while both Jones and Dernier just laughed even louder.

“Nothing that would cost him his commission,” he stated, as he saw Falsworth school his expression back to a more relieved look, nod once, and placed the paper within his jacket's inner pocket without opening it.

Soon though, the audience and the table started to break up, as the festivities of the night began to wane. He had made sure to say good night to Emily and David before the two left, happy that Emily had had the sensibility to drag the brilliant but shy engineer out of Stark's laboratory, and join in on the fun. There was more to life than building gadgets, and he was glad that David was starting to see that, instead of thinking he only had one path in life.

Bucky gathered most of his winnings, securing them into a pouch that he slung over his shoulder, and got up from where he was sitting. For the unpacked winnings, he placed them on the bar, as a thanks for the bartender for putting up with all of them, and the mess they had left behind. He made his way through what patrons were left, but did not leave the pub. Instead, he made his way over to the quieter side, and ensconced himself into the booth that was at the far corner of the place.

Slinging the pouch from his shoulder, he tossed it to the side, closed his eyes, and rubbed the sides of his head with his fingers. It had been so close. Had he not paid attention to how DumDum shuffled and dealt the cards in that last round, he would have bet incorrectly and lost. It wasn't until the noise on the other side, mostly of those drunk and singing, died down to almost nothing that he finally opened his eyes again.

Reaching into his pocket where he had stored the paper, he pulled it out and opened it. In the dimness, he could barely make out the words that were written down, but it was clear enough for him.

The edges of his lips quirked up in a bitter smile as he folded the scrap back up and pulled the ashtray sitting at the center of the booth over. Placing the paper on the pile of ash, he pulled out a set of matches from another pocket and lit one. Dropping the flame to the paper, he watched as it greedily licked up both the match and paper.

“I wonder, Falsworth,” he murmured, staring at the thin sliver of smoke that was left behind in the ashtray, “what gave it away for you to give me that challenge?”

“Was the challenge that terrible, Bucky?”

Bucky glanced up, the bitter smile on his face receding into a kinder one as he greeted, “David.”

The clink of two squat glasses, along with a bottle of amber-colored liquid were thumped on the other side of the table, as he saw the young engineer take a seat on the opposite side of the booth. “Emily is safely home,” David stated, uncorking the bottle and poured the liquid into both glasses. “Said that she had a swell time, and told me to tell you that she didn't mean anything with that kiss. She just got carried away with everything around her.”

“I thought so as well,” Bucky answered, reaching out with his right hand to accept the glass that was being pushed towards him. He stopped just short of curling his fingers around the glass as David reached a little further than the glass. David's warm fingertips lightly and gently brushed across the top of his hand, and pushed the sleeve of his jacket up ever so slightly, exposing his wrist and a small portion of his forearm.

He heard the engineer sigh in frustration, letting his sleeve go and sat back for a moment. David then shook his head once before getting up. Bucky's eyes didn't follow the young engineer, and instead, he glanced over towards where a thin layer of the bandages wrapped around his forearm laid peeking out from underneath his clothes.

Bucky tugged his sleeve back down.

He had replaced the bandages before he had gone to the pub, and his wounds were no longer bleeding. It was only because he had been covered in a thick layer of mud from the fall and tumble that he had not realized the extent of his wounds that had come from shrapnel during his hurried climb down the tree. Most, if not all of the bruises that he had sustained when Steve had 'bowled' into him were all but gone, but he had cleaned and bandaged both arms in secret.

No one had needed to know just how close he had been to getting shot at by the Kraut snipers.

“Here.” The familiar crackle of ice knotted in a small cloth was heard, accompanying the young engineer's one word statement. “Can't have scotch without ice.”

Wordlessly, Bucky accepted the small ice compress, but applied it to his left forearm. As David sat back down, Bucky pulled his glass of scotch towards him, but did not raise it to his lips just yet. Instead, he carefully watched the young man slide his glass from hand to hand for a moment, staring at the table seemingly lost in some other thought.

“I...” David began, hesitating for a moment and frowning as the glass shuffling stopped.

“It's unhealthy, David,” he stated.

_You're a hypocrite, Barnes_ , his traitorous thoughts shot back in the silence.

“I know,” the young man said, a bitter smile edging up his lips as Bucky saw him take a sip of the scotch. “I just... I just can't... It's why I don't leave the laboratory that much.”

“None of us are invincible, David,” he said. “The tech that all of you develop can only protect us so much.”

“I know,” David repeated, finally looking up at him, a despondent look about him. “I know, and that's what—Christ, I know it's unhealthy, but even with what Emily and I have, I can't seem to move on. I care... I like... I feel like she deserves better, Bucky.”

It was simple of him to take the conversation at face-value, but Bucky knew the young man well enough to know that there was something else other than the topic they both danced around, that was bothering him. In public, it was necessary to not even name said topic, as anyone could potentially eavesdrop, report it to the brass or local authorities, and have David killed. He just hoped that his attempt to peel back the layers was not related to their current discussion.

“What's really bothering you?” he asked.

As if he could not believe what Bucky had asked, the young engineer pointed to Bucky's forearm. “No,” Bucky stated, transferring the small bundle of ice to his right forearm. “These are superficial in comparison to the worry I'm hearing. Thank you for the ice, but what's really bothering you, David?”

Silence answered his question, and for a few long moments, Bucky saw him stare down at the glass in front of him, before looking back up. “Mr. Stark walked away from a 7 million dollar contract with the US Army,” David stated. “Literally. Walked away and told us to not stop and just keep walking with him, even though the brass had their soldiers training their weapons on us. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life as I had right at that moment.”

“And you think that if you had a gun, you would have felt better? More protected?”

“No,” the young engineer stated, shaking his head slightly. “But I wish I had a weapon of sorts to protect Mr. Stark. He's the only reason why we're able to crack HYDRA's weapons and develop countermeasures. If they had shot--”

“They didn't,” he gently cut in.

“But if they had--” David protested.

“David,” he said, reaching over with his left hand and placed it over David's right. “They didn't.”

Uncertainty graced the young man's expression, and just for a moment, Bucky saw the face of not a young, brilliant twenty-year-old engineer, but that of a young man lost and wondering why he was even here in this hell hole. What David had seen in his last trip with Stark out to the wastelands near the Soviet border must have been a terrible sight. He couldn't do anything to help erase whatever was seared into David's mind though, just like he couldn't do anything for the horrors he himself had seen out there.

“They didn't,” he repeated, squeezing the young man's hand for a moment before letting go. He leaned back, removing the ice from his right forearm and placed it on the ashtray. Twirling the glass of scotch with his right hand, he watched as David seemed to wrestle with something within his thoughts before shaking his head a few times.

“Sorry,” the young man whispered, taking up his glass and drinking the rest of the scotch in one go. “I'm bad company tonight. I'll see you in the laboratory tomorrow, Bucky.”

Bucky didn't even get a chance to say a farewell to the young engineer, as David abruptly got up and left. While it certainly had a sort of dramatic flair, because both sides of the pub were quite empty at this time of night, it looked more like the young man had dashed off to go vomit in the alleyway, rather than storm off in a flurry of confusion.

He glanced down at his glass, frowning as he tapped the side of it in a mindless pattern—

“Everything all right, Buck?”

Startled, he looked up, only to see Steve standing before him. Bucky knew that he had had his back towards the corner and had a view of the entire quiet side of pub – including a portion of the entrance. He had not seen Steve come in, nor seen anyone else in the quiet side of the pub when he had initially settled himself here. When had his friend arrived? Had Steve overheard them?

“The two of you looked to be in a private conversation, so I didn't want to bother you. I sat on the other side,” Steve explained, partially answering his unasked question. “Looks like things got a little heated. Is everything all right? I don't have to tell Howard to reprimand one of his engineers, do I?”

At the mention of Stark's name, Bucky managed to snap out of his surprise and latched onto that, saying, “The kid saw something out there with Stark, the last time Stark went into the field. Somewhere near the Soviet border?”

“Finow,” Steve said, taking the seat that David had vacated, but did not touch the scotch or empty glass. “I think that's how it's pronounced. Peggy was telling me about it. The official story is some weapons test gone wrong, killing hundreds, but she's not saying much else about it.”

Bucky was silent, shaking his head before sighing heavily. “David says that Stark walked away from an offer of 7 mil from the Army there. Was afraid that the soldiers there were going to kill him and the other engineers since they refused the offer. He was _wishing_ he had a gun on him. To protect himself—goddammit—”

“I heard about that as well.”

“Steve,” he began, hesitating for a moment as he brought the glass up to his lips. “I don't want to put a gun in his hands. He's not a soldier... he's only a civilian—a honest-to-God good, upright, kind civilian who really shouldn't have any business developing weapons that kill people.”

“I know, Bucky,” Steve answered, nodding. “And I agree. But after what happened to Howard out there, Colonel Phillips isn't taking any more chances. I'm trying to get him to change his mind, but I don't think even 'Captain America' has a lot of traction on this issue.”

In response, Bucky downed the entire glass of scotch in one gulp, hoping to feel the burn and heady sensation hit him like a Panzer rolling across the field at full speed. Instead, all he got was the bitter taste of the alcohol, complementing his frustration.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**Один единственный** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	12. злобный (Malign, re: Benign)

**Chapter 6: злобный (Malign, re: Benign)**

_Reality: Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA Earth_

 

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

_...you shaped the century..._

_...and I need you to do it one more time..._

They were clad in all matte black bodysuits that extended up over their faces, with brassy-colored metal chest plates protecting their upper bodies, and loose combat trousers that told him that their pockets carried weights for added impact force. Each carried a single combat knife about eight inches in length, but it was strange glowing red jeweled headband that each wore that stood out.

It also became the perfect target for him to aim for, as time seemed to slow down for him for just a moment. He dropped the pistol, angling his right hand down and back with his palm up. Simultaneously, he took a half-step back, bracing himself, as he watched the shadow slowly drop over him, bringing up his left hand. Ambushes commonly landed feet first; very few ever struck hand or head first, which made it ever more easier to deflect one or many.

Time sped back up for him as he snatched, grabbed, and dragged down the first enemy by its extended right foot with his right hand, unbalancing the attacker. At the same time, he turned in, and clamped his left over the wrist that held the blade, twisted said wrist, and wrenched the enemy's hand up. The blade slide easily between where the chest plate and bodysuit met. Twisting the knife, the enemy hitched and spasmed for a second before falling still.

By then he was already sliding the knife out and away from the loose, broken hold, stepping away as he brought his right hand up, brushing up against his vest as he plucked his own knife out of its sheathe. Throwing the long blade with his left, it struck and sunk hilt-deep into the red jeweled headband of another enemy only a half meter away from him. Said attacker hadn't even fully land on the blood and oil-slicked ground before collapsing into a heap.

It took two steps to get up to his full speed, as he leapt up and over the dead enemy. He slammed his right shin and knee first, striking just below the center of the chest plate of another attacker, ramming the knife in his right hand into the neck. As the body fell with a strange gurgling sound that seemed to have an electronic feedback quality, he plucked the enemy's blade out with his left hand.

By then, there were more reacting, more black bodysuited attackers with those strange headbands landing. He immediately rolled forward even before the previous one he had killed had fallen, snatching another knife out from within the sheathe across his vest. He stabbed once—leg—twice—thigh—with his right hand knife, and then straight into the enemy's stomach with his left blade, ripping it up until it snapped against the chest plate.

Whirling to his right, he dropped the knife in his right hand and into his left, just as his right open palm smashed up against another enemy's chin. He didn't watch the body fly away, as he was already pivoting left again, throwing the knife with his left with all of the force he could muster. It embedded itself directly into the jugular of another who had tried to charge him.

_Bonk! Bonk! Bonk!_

Out of the corner of his eyes to his left, three of the ones closest to him fell, knocked out onto the floor, by a flash of a blue-silver disc. Some person, dressed in a dark blue uniform with silver-grey stripes across his chest and pauldrons, had caught the disc— _Steve_!

He blinked, but the momentary disorienting thought that accompanied the strangest sensation, of a need to protect, disappeared as he turned to his right. Instinctively, he was already moving forward, both arms out, as he grappled the knife-wielding enemy that had attempted to charge him. Flipping said enemy over, as he forcibly kicked mid-flip, the noise of grenades sizzling through the air, caused him to pause in his advance.

He immediately took a few steps back, rolling backwards and coming up into a crouch, as a knife thrown by another jeweled banded enemy missed him by a hair. His right hand was already grasping and bringing up the pistol he had dropped. He didn't even have to _aim-sight-fire_ as the flurry of six grenades exploded a few meters ahead of him.

The enemy flew everywhere as the ground roiled with the shockwave. He pulled the trigger once-twice-three times and more, as those unbalanced and flying towards him fell to the ground. Another flash of a stars-and-stripes disc, flying at a dizzying speed, caught his attention to his left. Four more of the enemy were knocked back, but it was the forceful cry of denial behind him that drew him away from trying to assess just how many and who were these potential allies of his—

He turned—blonde hair, agile and clad in a skin-tight dark grey uniform— _Black Widow—_ had already climbed up onto the shoulders of the enemy that had tried to ambush him from behind. He saw her forcibly wrench the long blade— _super-soldier—_ from the enemy's hand, and plunge it into its heart. Even as he began to stand up and bring up his gun, as she leapt from her kill— _HYDRA operative_ —he knew that he had hesitated. He had waited a millisecond too long, watching her kill her prey.

It was too late, as the Winter Soldier saw that the Black Widow, crouched as she was, had her gun pointed at him as well.

~~~

Natasha wanted to catch her breath, desperately wanted to breathe in and out faster than what she was doing at the moment, but she dared not to. She had to hold even, had to keep her breaths slow and steady, as per her memories. She couldn't read Barnes, couldn't read Steve's Bucky at all at the moment, as she searched for any sign that there was a reformed man within those eyes of his.

The silo was silent with all of the strangely costumed attackers with jeweled headbands, all dead. The electronic feedback that she had occasionally heard whenever one of them died from a head shot or knife to the head had her initially thinking that they were robots in disguise. But some of the terrified screams unleashed when they had died said otherwise.

The viciously precise, brutal actions that this Barnes at the end of her gun's barrel had displayed in the fight, were that of the Winter Soldier – matching her memories. It was different from the rawness and need to inflict as much pain on the enemy as she had seen other-Barnes, other-Winter Soldier perform in previous fights. The Winter Soldier of her reality was extremely efficient in killing, ensuring that only the bare minimum application of force, or even a single bullet was needed – and that was what made him terrifying to her.

She had gone through the entire list of conditioning commands, and a handful of shutdowns before, so what was this that seemingly possessed Steve's Bucky?

“Bucky? Nat?” Steve cautiously ventured, as Natasha saw him out of the corner of her eyes to her right, take a step forward from where he had been fighting, shield held in front of him

“Natalia?” other-Barnes had echoed at nearly the same time.

“Stay back!” she shouted, daring not to even look away from the Winter Soldier of her reality, knowing that to do so would be instantly fatal. “Steve, just stay back!”

“Sergeant,” the cautious, careful tone of Captain Barnes rose up, as she saw him take a couple of steps forward, his rifle pointed at the Winter Soldier's head. “She is _not_ a super-soldier. She is not a threat. She is your ally, Sergeant.”

At those words, Natasha knew what may have happened – what fugue that her reality's James Barnes, may have fallen into. Her hair... it had to have been her hair, colored as it was for her disguise in their reality, and colored to a similar shade as this reality's deceased HYDRA agent, Natasha Romanov.

“Bucky...” Steve began again.

In the silence, she continued to point her gun unwaveringly at the man standing a couple of meters away from her. All she could do at the moment was watch, wait, and react if it came down to making sure that she survived. She knew that she could not overpower Barnes, and he had her at a vast disadvantage, even as coiled and tensed up as she was, ready to spring forward. He would be able to get at least two bullets out and into her body before she even reached him.

His hand holding the gun twitched.

She flinched.

Yet, a gunshot did not shatter the silence. She saw his hand move again, shaking ever so slightly as if he could not control the tremors. Still, she did not move. The tremors only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed that the Winter Soldier had pulled himself out of whatever fugue had overtaken him. He lowered the gun, and though Natasha still kept her eyes on him, seeing confusion along with hesitation and frustration flit across his face, she slowly stood up while lowering her own weapon.

“We good here?” Clint's question broke the silence as she looked over to her right to see that the archer had had five explosive arrows primed and ready to be unleashed at both her and the Winter Soldier. Considering what Steve had describe the fight that had happened here over a year ago – the Winter Soldier of her reality versus the super-soldiered Black Widow of this one – she didn't blame Clint for not taking any chances.

Behind Clint was Johnson, who had her hands extended out, with the air in front of her wavering ever so slightly. Next to her was Steve's counterpart, who had slotted her shield on her back, and had knelt down to pick the gravelly injured Sharon Carter up from the floor. Both had had paused in their actions in the brief stand off, but now, Johnson had lowered her hands, and Steve's counterpart had resumed her actions.

Off to her left, further away was other-Barnes, other-Winter Soldier, who had his hardlight shield active. It was deactivated a moment later, as Natasha saw Steve, standing a few meters away from other-Barnes with his shield in a tight grip in his left hand, begin to relax. Of the final and third Barnes in their motley group, he had also lowered his rifle.

“Yeah, I think we're good, Hawkeye,” the intelligence officer stated.

“Okay,” Clint answered in a relieved tone. “I really, really didn't want to blow us all to the ninth level of Hell--”

A high-pitched buzzing whine seared through the air, cutting off whatever else the archer was going to say. That noise was abruptly silenced with an electronic-like shudder as Natasha saw other-Barnes strike down at one of the black bodysuited enemies with the reactivated hardlight shield, decapitating it. Whatever that noise was, it was answered a moment later, as the air all around them began shimmering in vertical ripples – twenty in all.

“Shit, incoming!” other-Barnes shouted, backpedaling as the ripples to another reality ripped open all at once.

~~~

Steve barely brought his shield up in time, jumping up and turtling behind it just as a hail of missiles impacted it. He hadn't made in time to Natasha to shield her, but in the brief instant before impact, he had caught a glimpse of Barnes reaching her and shielding her with his suit. MODOK units, at least ten of them emerging out from various portals, had taken the first shot.

In the next moment, he felt himself flying backwards, grunting in pain as he landed on the slippery floor. Stars flashed across his eyes for a brief moment, as his momentum was halted by the pile of bodies, debris, and limbs. He didn't get a chance to catch his breath though, as he was suddenly and forcibly dragged up by his right arm.

Stumbling up, he was quickly spun around, and shoved towards the way the team had emerged from as he heard Bucky gruffly say in his left ear, “Fall back, Steve!”

All around him, the team was already falling back, funneling their way through, as he saw and felt the explosions from Clint's explosive arrows try to bring down pieces of the silo on top of the invasion force. He turned back for just a second, seeing the same bejeweled headbanded soldiers, along with the yellow hazmat suited AIM enemies, black-clad HYDRA forces, and MODOK units clambering out of the portal, firing wildly at them.

At the same time, Steve saw Bucky bring up his sniper rifle, pulling the trigger four times in rapid succession. He couldn't even hear the report of the rifle, standing this close to him, due to the sheer amount of noise filling the air. Three MODOK units fell, briefly careening into others among the invasion force, while a fourth one just simply flopped over. It was only a brief glare thrown at him by Bucky that he finally took action and moved – but not in the direction that he knew Bucky would have wanted him to go.

Snatching up an unbroken rifle whose weight told him that it only had half a magazine left, Steve spun around and pulled the trigger, providing the necessary covering fire for Bucky to fall back. Tossing the empty rifle away, he raised his shield, briefly covering Bucky as he saw him breeze by him, sniper rifle slung across his back, but snatching up what looked like a _spear_ of all things.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't all that simplistic of a tool, as Steve began to take a step back, one after the other. Bolts of silver lanced out from the tip of the spear, as Steve stepped up to make sure that Bucky's side was covered. As one, they both began to fall back – that is until a ground-shaking explosion, preceded by a hollow-ringing sound that seemed to vibrate through Steve's bones, interrupted them.

The two of them quickly doubled back, as the cracking cacophony of cement and metal wrenching across metal managed to drown out the howling war cries of the invasion force. Chunks of debris collapsed a few feet in front of the two of them, nearly sealing the 'tunnel' that they had fallen back to. Steve knew that that was the only chance either of them would have of making headway into their escape before the Red Skull's forces could push through the temporary barrier.

Slapping Bucky on the side of his right arm, Steve was already turning, unhooking his shield from his left arm and slotting it back into its magnetic holster on his back. He caught a glimpse of Natasha dashing beyond a corner a few yards in front of them, as he took off.

Weaving this way and that through the corridors that would lead them back to the missile bay with Bucky hot on his heels, the two of them emerged into a brief intersection of a few corridors. Steve saw that his counterpart, carrying Sharon in her arms, along with Clint were already ahead of him, ducking into the final set of corridors that would get them to the bay. Natasha was already sprinting down that corridor as well. Emerging from another set was James, followed by Barnes. To his left, was Daisy, and Steve saw it a split second before she had time to react to the threat about to ambush her from above.

He dashed across to her, snatching her up by her waist as he skidded to a halt, reached back and brought his shield over both himself and her with his right hand. The _gonk_ -ing thump of a MODOK unit impacted his shield, but as heavy as the thing was that drove both him and Daisy into the ground, it was suddenly alleviated. A flurry of silver bolts and the drilling of rifle bullets seared through the air, inches away from them.

It drove back the MODOK unit and gave Daisy just enough room to recover, peek out, and unleash a powerful blast of her earthquake powers. It was not enough to crush the unit, but it was enough to drive it into the concrete wall and give them the few more precious seconds they needed to make their escape.

Scrambling up, he pushed Daisy forward, as he heard the whir and electronic whine of the MODOK unit trying to get itself out of the wall. Several more bolts of silver peppering the hole made, collapsed some more rebar and concrete on top of the MODOK unit. The others had already gone ahead, and Steve saw Bucky turn, following Daisy and him out and into the missile bay. Three rappelling lines with the auto lift-drop mechanism remained, as Steve snatched up one and secured it to his waist belt.

Daisy and Bucky had done the same, and none of them needed another incentive to go, as the sounds of the MODOK, along with many others from the invasion force echoed down from where they were. Zipping up and to the top of the missile bay, Steve quickly unhooked and scrambled up and out, making sure that Daisy did not catch herself on the blackened remnants of the bay's fairing cover.

Someone had already brought the quinjet to active, as he saw James standing at the edge of the ramp, rifle pointed in their general direction, ready to provide covering fire. The three of them scrambled in, with James entering after them and slapping the button to close the ramp. Whumps of missiles landing where they had been as the quinjet quickly took off, and the rumble of the the rotary cannon spitting back in retaliation, filled the cargo hold. As exhausted as Steve was, he forced himself to sit up straight as he took his shield and leaned it against the side of the jump seat, before strapping himself in.

They had the Cosmic Cube, but the way home was gone. Sharon Carter of this reality was dying, Stevie's daughter had been taken by the Red Skull, and Bucky... Bucky was here and had seemingly had the commands removed a long time ago. As Steve breathed out and scrubbed his face and hair with his hands, he wished that he could just close his eyes and pretend that it had been all a bad dream.

~~~

Bucky wanted to rest. He longed to just sit back on the jump seat, close his eyes, and wish that this waking nightmare had never happened. He wished that he could breathe in deeply and smell the strange spices hanging in the air around his hut, of the earthy smell that indicated that he was safe. He wanted to hear the rustling of wind across long blades of grass, of the faint bleating of goats and sheep belonging to his distant neighbors, of even the damn cuckoo clock he had taken apart.

He wanted it all back, of the comfort that he was no longer drowning in an endless battlefield, but he knew that it was not so. It was all a lie: the story that old soldiers were allowed to rest after they had given it all, sacrificed it all for country, freedom, and self. It was a lie that he had nearly convinced himself that it was the truth, when he had began picking up the pieces of his life in Wakanda.

At the thought of the nation, Bucky reached back and pulled the spear he had picked up off the ground, forward. He hadn't seen the body that the spear belonged to, but he knew that it was Wakandan made. They were the only nation who had the capability of hiding advanced technology inside mundane, simple tools. He had only seen schematics of how it actually worked once in Shuri's lab, and even then, she had wiped the schematic off of the screen quite fast – but not fast enough for him to have memorized it.

“You going to be roasting some marshmallows with that, Barnes?”

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

He looked up, squeezing his eyes shut for just a quick second to brush away the memory of this reality's Black Widow that threatened to overlap into his current memory of Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow of his reality. Barton was flying the quinjet, given that from his seat at the far end of the hold nearest to the ramp, he saw Johnson, Steve, Steve's counterpart, his counterpart, his other counterpart, and a clearly dying Sharon Carter stretched out along several seats.

“It's Wakandan,” he stated after a moment, keeping his eyes on her as she stood against the threshold between the cockpit and cargo hold.

“Wakandan?” his counterpart asked, puzzled. “I thought they're supposed to be advanced tech and all. Spears?”

“Hidden in plain sight,” he simply stated, before pointing to their mutual counterpart. He had caught just a glimpse of a familiar-looking blue cowled helmet reforming just as the enemy forces emerged from the portals. “His tech is Wakandan. The bleeding effect of the armor forming gives it away.”

“Joint Stark-Wakandan tech,” his other counterpart corrected in a short tone.

Bucky deigned to comment on that, briefly wondering if something similar was happening in his reality with all of the news about Stark working with the Wakandan Science Outreach centers. He brushed away the thought as he returned his attention to the spear. While he knew that it would be more infinitely useful to not do anything to the spear, he knew that they needed answers – especially as to what exactly had happened in the silo, and if the Red Skull's forces had successfully invaded his, Steve's, and Romanov's reality.

“Ah, pardon me Winter Soldier,” the voice of former Agent Fitz suddenly spoke up, just before Bucky was about to break the shaft of the spear just behind trigger point. A second later, a tiny holographic form – chest on up – of the AI emerged from the tiny divot in the spear, where the spear's blackbox camera was located.

“If you would please not break the power source just yet, I'd like to jump into the quinjet?” the AI continued. “With permission, of course.”

He couldn't help but blink in surprise, and looked up, knowing that it was not his decision to make. The AI made him a little uneasy, as it kept calling him by the hated call sign, yet he knew that he had never corrected it to make it stop calling him that.

“Did the AI glitch?” Johnson asked from where she was sitting, as Bucky held out the spear towards the others within the cargo hold. “That seriously does not sound or behave like Fitz.”

“It is smaller in here than what servers you left me to roam about,” the AI answered, with no hint of resentment or malice in its tone. “I had to compress and shed most of my external matrices to fit in here and hide from whatever attacked us.”

“Why do you want to jump into the quinjet?” he heard Steve's counterpart quietly ask.

“Agent Carter is dying, ma'am,” the AI answered. “If you attempt to push the engines beyond red, the quinjet will fail, and you will not make it back to base. I can stabilize it and ensure that all systems hold until we arrive.”

“That's it?” he heard his counterpart ask, skeptical. “That's all you want to do--”

“What happened in the silo, Fitz?” Steve's counterpart interrupted, her voice heavy with exhaustion, grief, and worry. “You were there. What _happened_? Where's my daughter? Why... why was she taken? How?!”

“I do not have all the details—” the AI began, as Bucky saw his normal mirrored counterpart place a hand on her shoulder in comfort, having taken a seat next to her.

“There is a blackbox in the spear,” he interrupted the AI, averting his eyes slightly, while also avoiding looking at Steve who was sitting on the other side of Johnson, to his left. “I just need to cut the power source to get to it.”

“Fitz,” Steve spoke up before any answers or acknowledgment could be made with regards to the blackbox. “Did you tamper with the quinjet's security features?”

“Yes,” the AI answered. “Temporarily for all of them, as I did not know which one that the Winter Soldier--”

“Stop calling me that,” Bucky bit out.

“Apologies, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI continued. “As I was saying. I did not know which one Sergeant Barnes was going to take, as the burst message that came through and onto the other reality was flagged as high priority. Therefore, it seemed more prudent for me to unlock all quinjets, rather than waste time going through security protocols. I rewrote all security measures and enhanced the rest after this quinjet left. When the invaders came through, I transferred myself to the armaments above ground, including the quinjets. I self-destructed all of them when the invaders managed to make it above ground and tried to take the quinjets. I then took shelter in this spear, as my servers had been destroyed by then.”

Silence answered the AI's explanation. It was broken when Steve's counterpart quiet stated, “Go in the quinjet, Fitz. Get us back to base ASAP.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the AI answered, disappearing from the tiny projection. The only indication that the AI had transferred itself to the quinjet was the audible whine of the engines increasing in volume.

Bucky withdrew the spear and broke the shaft in half right at the power source. Tapping the arrowhead end of the shaft, a tiny black sphere rolled out and into his metal hand. As soon as it touched his metal hand though, a holographic 3D projection appeared a few centimeters above the sphere, similar to what he had seen the Wakandan communication spheres behave. The only difference was that this one was a little larger than the projections he had seen before.

All he and the others saw was the ceiling of the silo. Murmurs of conversations that the blackbox captured were audible, though it was all in Xhosa, which he had not fully learned yet. However, it looked as if the guard that this spear had belonged to was stationary for a long while. He wasn't exactly sure how to utilize communications spheres, as he had no great need for one, but as soon as he poked a finger into the projection, it seemed to fast forward. Movement from the projection, along with the occasional up and down motion of the spear being moved from its vertical position indicated that it was at least moving forward.

It was only when he caught a glimpse of Shuri that he stopped and removed his finger. Those at the silo were still speaking Xhosa, but it looked as if the guards were forming around Shuri, given the movements that they were seeing in the recording.

“You understand any of what they're saying, Barnes?” Romanov asked.

“Not all of it yet,” he curtly answered.

“What's Princess Shuri doing there? I thought she was supposed to be the face of the Science Outreach,” Romanov continued.

“I ran into her shortly before crossing. The Princess said that she had business in the silo,” he answered, and refused to say anything further, as Romanov and the others did not need to know that Shuri had been the one to successfully pull all of those commands from his mind. Not to mention that she had also been the one to give him a ride to the silo.

“Wakanda said that they were sending their best scientist to help stop Caroline's accelerated growth,” Steve's counterpart spoke up, her voice a little raw and hoarse. “Given the time frame of your arrival, Sergeant, and the fact that you passed the quinjet that Sharon and my daughter were flying in, I think this Princess Shuri was supposed to meet her.”

“...I'm going to go to the other side, Ayo,” Shuri's voice suddenly broke across the projection in English.

“But Princess--” one of her guardsmen protested.

“Look,” Shuri stated, and in his mind's eye, even though the projection showed only a slightly tilted view of the ceiling of the silo, he could imagine Shuri standing before the guardsmen with her hands on her hips. “Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov crossed over without any trouble. So did Sergeant Barnes. His counterpart and Agent Johnson crossed over to here without issue and returned to their reality safe and sound. I'm going.”

A few more words and protests were said in Xhosa, but it seemed that nothing was deterring the headstrong, impulsive Princess of Wakanda. Even the 'it will be fun!' exclamation from her was causing headaches for her security detail, as the image finally rotated down about ninety degrees. It showed the portal getting closer and closer, before the guardsman holding the spear crossed.

Emerging onto the other side, the projection showed the contingent of Inhumans and SHIELD agents waiting a respectful distance away. Standing nearest to the portal was Sharon Carter, and a gangly-looking teenager, who looked in awe at either the portal or the emergence of the Wakandan guardsmen. The last he remembered of the young toddler he had tried to save when the transformed Dottie Underwood had tried to abduct her, was that she was much shorter, pudgier, and definitely was no sprout. It would have been difficult to believe that the teenager was Caroline Rogers, had she not looked almost exactly like Steve or Steve's counterpart – minus the color of her hair.

The spear was righted again, but Shuri had already emerged from the portal, saying, “Hello, I'm Shuri. You must be Miss Rogers. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm here to help you get better.”

“Hi,” the teenager greeted in a cheerful tone. “You can call me Caroline, Shuri. Mom and Aunt Peggy said--”

A bright light filled the screen, before fizzling out to static. It didn't last long though, as footage began to be recorded again. This time, the entire silo was on fire and filled with incredibly thick smoke. Spike shards, fireballs, and many other things were flying everywhere. Caroline was nowhere to be seen, as the blackbox caught a brief moment in which it showed Carter flying backwards and landing on the ramp, bleeding extensively from her wounds.

The guardsman holding the spear briefly turned back towards the portal, catching a glimpse of Shuri being forced back through the portal by the other guardsmen. As soon as she disappeared, the guardsman aimed the weapon at what looked like to be a small disc that had nine inset jewels around its border, and shimmer like a reflective blue lake.

A silver bolt lanced out from the weapon, shattering the thing to pieces. The recording suddenly tumbled end over end, as it flew out of the Wakandan guardsman's hand, showing that the portal was no longer active, and that those black clad enemies that had attacked them were proceeding to tear apart those in the silo.

Bucky closed his hand around the tiny sphere, shutting off the recording, and looked down at his fist. He dared not crush it, and yet he wanted to. There had been nothing that any of them could do – no warning, no knowledge of an ambush happening—

“What... what are those things?” Johnson quietly asked breaking the silence, looking pale and ill again.

“MODOC, with a C,” Bucky heard his other counterpart, the true mirror, answer. “Military Operatives Designed Only for Combat. They're hive-mind, bio-mechanical organisms designed and built similar to LMDs.”

No one said a word, though it was surprisingly the quiet offer of, “I might have a way to transport all of you to my reality,” said by his other counterpart that got everyone's attention. “You asked me how I got here, Captain Barnes,” he continued. “I'm going to have to ask you to bear with me, because I don't know if it will work. I need to... calibrate it and figure out if it will work.”

“The Red Skull has a reality portal device, correct?” Steve asked, as Bucky saw him fold his arms across his chest, looking angry.

“A device, yes,” Bucky heard his other counterpart answer, but noticed that he avoided looking at Steve, and seemed to focus his eyes on the center of the cargo hold. “Last intelligence on that thing I received was that it could only open one portal at a time to different realities. He may have modified or built a new one.”

“Does he need still need this thing?” Romanov asked, as Bucky saw her draw out a metal-covered cube from being clipped to the side of her waist belt.

“I don't know,” the man admitted.

“Our way home is gone, Barnes,” Romanov stated, clipping the cube back to her waist belt. “The three of us are going with you, whether or not you want us to.”

“Stevie and I are coming as well,” he heard his normal mirrored counterpart state. “Your Red Skull took Caroline. I want that son of a bitch's head on spike.”

“Start on that calibration, Private Barnes,” Bucky heard Steve order in a cold tone. “Time's wasting.”

* * *

_SHIELD Underground Headquarters_

_Hours later..._

 

They had all been ordered to rest, even though none of them wanted to. Even the threat of sedation had not deterred them. However, it was the knowledge that they could not do anything at the moment – not with the remnants of HYDRA and their allies so roiled up that almost every surveillance camera, microphone, and electronic gizmo was searching for SHIELD. SHIELD had struck an apt blow, complementing the Inhumans' strikes as well, and that had kicked the proverbial hornet's nest.

There was also the matter of calibration and what his other counterpart was going to do to see if it was possible to transport more than just his lonesome self back to his reality. That was going to take an indefinite amount of time, not to mention the fact that his other counterpart seemed a little unsure at his own proposal – as if he had just blurted out that offer without due consideration.

Bucky splashed the water over his face, blinking as he saw the droplets of dark grey and black from the kohl being washed off drip down into the sink. Scrubbing his face a little more, he splashed some more water until the color dripping down was almost clear. Even though the offer to help cross into another reality had been made in the heat of the moment, he had seen a nervousness about his other counterpart. It was unusual, as he knew that he, along with his counterpart of this reality made sure that they never showed that kind of tic.

Reaching over to his right for the towel hanging on the rack, he frowned as instead of cloth, he grabbed air, with the tips of his fingers hitting the metal rack—“Here.”

He blinked as he stood upright and looked at the mirror. Reflected in it and behind him was Steve, with a neutral look on his face. Steve was also holding the towel he had been searching for a moment ago. Bucky turned, slightly and wordlessly plucked it from Steve's hand, which offered no resistance to his action.

“We need to talk,” was all that Steve stated as Bucky dried his face and damp hair, seeing Steve walk away in the reflection of the mirror.

It would have been completely childish and immature to remain in the tiny bathroom attached to the room he was assigned; to just close the door and remain there indefinitely until Steve got tired of his obstinate attitude and left. Bucky wanted to do it, wanted to just not talk, but he knew that he was past that immaturity.

What right did he have to re-enter his best friend's life? What right did he have to even think that he could just swoop in for a quick assistance and _think_ that he could just leave and not explain himself after the hell he had put Steve through? Especially after the many tics on the shit list that he mentally compiled that he had to apologize to Steve for?

He removed the towel from his hair and draped it around his shoulders. Exiting the bathroom, he saw that Steve had situated himself near the door, and had his arms crossed over his chest. Blue-green eyes tracked his every movement, but Bucky ignored it as he wicked off the towel with his right hand, tossed it onto the nightstand, and grabbed the black t-shirt with a small SHIELD logo imprinted on the center, from the bed. He was already wearing the change of combat trousers that had been given to him. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and down his body with the same hand.

Still, Steve did not move, nor made any comment or show any other expression. Those expressive blue-green eyes of his were still watching him, even as Bucky silently skittered the small desk chair in the room over to him. Bucky took a seat on the end of the bed, as Steve caught the chair and silently sunk into the seat, facing him.

“They teach you how to work with only one hand?” Steve quietly asked after a moment, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

“Yes,” he answered, glancing over towards his metal hand and curled it into a fist before uncurling it.

“Are they good people? Do you like it there?”

“Yes,” he said. “Don't have many neighbors. Closest one lives about 1.5 kilometers away from me. It's usually quiet at night, except when the feral dogs are hunting. They don't come close to the hut though. Fencing from Wakanda's tech deters the wild animals from invading any villagers' homes.”

He saw Steve nod, a little absently, as if he were wrestling with something within. “Skip the twenty questions, Steve,” he stated, mentally wincing at just how harsh and snappish his words came out to be. There was no turning back though, as he knew that he deserved every tirade, every word of anger, hatred, and pain issuing from Steve's mouth – not the neutral bullshit 'life' questions.

“What do you really want to ask me?” he continued. “What do you really want to talk about? When I got those commands removed? Why haven't I told you? What have I been doing with my life? How were those commands--”

“Yes!” Steve exploded, abruptly standing up and covered the distance between them in two steps. It was more out of sheer habit and muscle memory that Bucky stood as well, but wanted to take a step back upon seeing the naked pain, frustration, and resentful look on Steve's face. He couldn't though – the back of his shins were already hitting the bed.

Before a tirade could rain down upon him though, it seemed that Steve's anger fled him as quickly as it had come. In it's place was defeat, a seemingly deflated sort of frustration that enveloped him, as Bucky saw him take a step back. “All I wanted was for you to get better, Bucky. That's all I wanted to know,” Steve said, shaking his head, and took another step back.

“We made a promise, you and I,” Steve continued saying after a moment's hesitation. “We made a promise and _you_ broke it.”

~~~

_At the same time..._

 

Natasha opened and closed her hand, careful not to squeeze too tightly to cause the dye packet to explode. It was a familiar weight – as familiar as the weight of her Widow's Bite bracers, which were not present in this reality. She had never thought that she would miss the presence of those discs of electricity as she did now, but those were childish thoughts to have.

“You hold that as if it were a live grenade, Natalia.”

She looked up, not surprised to see the man who was her reality's Winter Soldier and this reality's James Barnes rolled up into one, standing at the far end of the wall she was leaning on. The metallic armor was gone again, melted back into his dog tags, which was lying on top of the bodysuit he wore. Either the chill of the underground base got to him, or he became a little more sensible in dressage now. He was wearing a pair of sweats over the bottom half of his bodysuit. That bodysuit, along with his armor had been form-fitting enough that it did not leave _anything_ about James Barnes's body to the imagination.

“In a way it is,” she answered, tilting her head to the side slightly. “Calibration still ongoing?” He silently nodded in affirmation. “You can stand next to me if you want, Barnes,” she continued. “I'm not going to bite.”

The ghost of a smile twitched up his lips, a far cry from the hostile demeanor that he had carried about him when she had first met him. “I suppose my counterpart's complaints are valid,” he said, approaching, but stopping an arm length away from her. He leaned his back against the wall, adopting the same stance as she did, standing out here in the empty hall. “You're never going to differentiate between any of us, will you? We're just going to have to guess who exactly you're addressing every single time you speak, right?”

“There's some fun in that,” she answered, giving him a slightly coy smile.

“But you're changing your hair color back to red for him, aren't you?” he asked, as she saw him point to the dye packet in her hand.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. When there was no answer or expected follow up to her affirmation, she glanced over to see that he had folded his arms silently over his chest without her ever hearing the movement. Even the whir of his metal arm had not been heard, which surprised her, though she knew that she shouldn't have been surprised.

There was a contemplative look on his face, and given the change she had seen overtake this James Barnes in the last seventy-two hours, along with her own curiosity, she decided to reach out a little. “You're not going to offer to help me dye my hair?”

The startled look on his face was partially expected, but also confirmed what his own assumptions about her and her reality were. “Um, no,” he answered, shaking his head slightly as he uncrossed his arms. “I would... it's not...”

“It would be the best way to seduce me away from the Cube that I guard,” she began, tilting her head to the side as she suggestively brushed her fingers down the side of her head, past her ear, and trailed them across her neck. “Shower, dye, rinse, and little to no clothing--”

“I'm not going to take the Cube from you, Natalia,” he interrupted her, closing his left hand – his metal hand – around her right, pulling it away from her face. A momentary panic overtook her for a brief instant as she righted herself, staring at him before he let her hand go, shaking his head slowly. “You don't have to test me, Natalia. I'm not going to dishonor my Natalia's memory. I trust you to keep it safe.”

“Then I'm sorry to have done that to you, Barnes,” she said, and she meant it.

“James?” he offered after a few moments of silence.

“No,” she answered, smirking at him. “Steve already calls your counterpart in this reality James. I start calling you that, and I'm going to confuse everyone.”

“So it's back to Barnes,” he answered, nodding as she saw another ghost of a smile on his lips. “Can't even have Barnes One, Two, or Three?”

She shook her head, but he was not done yet, as she saw a more serious look overtake his expression, as he said, “You're afraid of him, aren't you? Afraid of my counterpart in your reality?”

Natasha wordlessly nodded, opening and closing her hand around the dye packet again. She looked up at him, saying, “You thought I had the same kind of relationship that you had with your Natalia, didn't you? Hence your question about dying my hair for him.”

“Given what I read about in HYDRA's propaganda on all that's happened in this reality, it's not a stretch,” he answered.

“It was different,” she quietly stated, glancing down at the packet, as she realized just what made this particular James Barnes different from the other two that she knew – besides the blend of personalities and skills of both. This particular one was an operative, but not to the intensity that this reality's Barnes had done so. This stars-and-stripes clad Barnes most likely used to work in the shadows, but since being thrust into the limelight as Captain America, had had to change perceptions and approaches.

“Every Soviet agent was drilled to trust the mission, not the operative behind the mission, if we were ever partnered up,” she continued. “I worked with him before, but after I defected, I heard rumors that he had been retired – permanently. Seemed like the Soviets didn't want all of their stuff being discovered, and he was rumored to have been stored somewhere in Kiev a few years after the Berlin Wall fell. It wasn't until I was on a mission for SHIELD a few years after my defection that my assumption was proven false.

“I got shot through the stomach, while the engineer I was escorting died. Then I got shot again through my shoulder when Steve, Sam, and I were taking down HYDRA within SHIELD. I should have died both times, were it not for the kindness of strangers and a doctor nearby.”

Silence answered her oblique confession, though it was broken a few moments later as she heard him say, “I'm sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks,” she answered, touched by his sincerity. If this was how her reality's Barnes had been before everything, she couldn't help but feel sorry for how far he had fallen, and just how long of a climb he had to get back on his feet. It was no wonder Barnes had chosen to keep himself away from Steve, even after the commands had been removed. In a way, she knew how similar they were--

The swish of a door opening and closing further down the hall, caught her attention. She saw Steve leave the room, frustration evident in the way he carried himself. He had not turned towards her or other-Barnes, but instead, headed down the opposite direction, head bent down and paying little attention to his surroundings.

She wondered what exactly had been said in that particular room to cause Steve to leave, as she knew a confrontation of sorts between Steve and – Bucky, she finally acquiesced to the insistent nag within her thoughts – was eminent. She just didn't think that it would have been this bad.

It was only after neither of them could hear Steve's footsteps echoing down the halls that other-Barnes quietly spoke up, asking, “You aren't going after him?”

“I don't have that kind of relationship with Steve in my reality,” Natasha answered, shaking her head slightly as she returned her attention to him. “I don't plan on to either. Not with just how complicated it is between him and your counterpart.”

“Steve... he was like an older brother to me,” other-Barnes murmured. “Folks said that the four-year gap between our ages was small, but it always seemed like a gulf to me. I always wanted to make sure I did him proud, especially since he personally recruited me to join the Invaders outfit during the war.”

She shook her head slightly, saying, “Whatever those two have, it's not as simple or black-and-white as what this reality's Rogers and Barnes have here. They grew up together, they fought together, they fought against each other, and they both 'died' in the war. My advice to you Barnes, don't try to get involved with their Gordian knot.”

“Is that spoken on witnessing the experience of my counterpart here in this reality getting tangled up in the affairs of another?” other-Barnes asked, his tone serious.

“Yeah,” she answered, nodding once as she glanced back down the hall. “Captain Barnes tried to 'cut' through the knot, but now, it looks like he only made things worse.”

She paused for a moment before furrowing her eyebrows slightly, puzzled as to the line of questioning that had emerged from other-Barnes. “You and your counterparts don't seem like the gossipy secretary type of people. Why the interest in my relationships between Steve and your counterpart? Or theirs, for the matter?”

Silence answered her question as she saw him glance down at the ground, seemingly finding it interesting for a few moments. “It... it might have to do with what I may need to brief all of you on tomorrow. That is...if the calibration to bring the five of you to my reality works. And if all of you are still willing to go...”

He looked back up, catching her eyes with a seriousness that she had never seen on him before, saying, “If push comes to shove, Natalia...”

“What are we potentially walking into, Barnes?” she asked, as an uneasy feeling began to bloom in her stomach.

“A nightmare,” he quietly answered, a forlorn tone in his words. “Steven and Stephanie Rogers, along with their respective James Barnes, are all going to be walking into a nightmare scenario, if they cross over to my reality, Natalia.”

* * *

The light was on in Dr. Campbell's office, but it looked like the good doctor was taking a quick nap, judging by the open book lying across his face, and the fact that the Inhuman doctor had his feet up on his desk. Johnson was nowhere to be found within or near the doctor's office, and thus Bucky had to assume that the Inhuman agent was asleep in her own quarters, and that Campbell had a shift to complete. He continued down the hall, not wanting to disturb the doctor's rest.

The infirmary ward was not terribly large that he had to peer through slats and cracks of doors to find out what room Steve was in, after Romanov had helpfully indicated that Steve was at the infirmary. Had he not known that his best friend – _former_ best friend, his thoughts viciously jabbed at him – was suffering from nightmares, he would have found it a little more than alarming that Steve was sleeping in the infirmary.

Steve's room was the only one that had its lights on. Even with the privacy curtains drawn over the windows, it was the only one shining brightly in the halls at this hour in the night. Bucky approached and stopped at the door, raising his good hand – his flesh hand – to knock on it. He wanted to hesitate, but there was no sense in doing so. He had told himself over and over again since even before he had the commands removed that he needed to apologize to Steve.

Even after the fuck up that had happened earlier, he was not going to let himself sleep on it or to let it fester. His list of things to apologize for was as red and overflowing as Romanov's ledger. He knew that there was a chance that Steve would take his apology as insincere, given the circumstances, but he'd rather have it out now than later.

The muffled 'enter' greeted his knock and he opened the door, taking a step in, as he saw Steve sitting under the covers of the infirmary's bed, writing on a piece of paper that was on top of a tray. A bullet and a familiar-looking compass were sitting on the corner of the tray, as he heard him say while continuing to write, “It's not what it looks like Dr. Campbell. It's not--”

Bucky saw him finally look up, as he shut the door and quietly finished for him, saying, “A suicide note?”

“...yeah,” Steve answered, frowning slightly, as Bucky saw him stop writing and place his pen down.

“The bullet looks too large to fit in a pistol,” he said, remaining where he was, as he glanced down for a moment before looking back up. “I just wanted to say, I'm sorry, Steve,” he continued, deciding to get right to the point, “for everything that I've done to hurt you. And I'm sorry for breaking our promise.”

He turned back and reached for the door handle, saying, “You should get some sleep soon, Steve. Romanov thinks that we might be getting an early morning briefing.”

“Bucky...”

Bucky blinked in confusion, wondering why he was hearing Steve's protesting tone – the one that was usually used whenever Steve felt that something idiotic had been suggested. Nothing that he had just mentioned was idiotic at all, as he knew that both of them had gone through at least seventy-two hours of wakefulness during the war. Sleep was a commodity that neither of them had had a lot of during the war, and as quiet as it was now, it was even more precious.

“Hold this please,” Steve said, as Bucky turned around, seeing him take the flipped tray with the paper, pen, bullet, and compass and held it up.

Puzzled, as he didn't really understand Steve's actions at the moment, as his best friend – _former_ , his thoughts admonished him again – had every right to be angry, and tell him to leave. Cautiously, he approached, and took the tray from Steve, but did not look down to see what he had written. He had no right to, not after what he had done.

He did, however, take a step back as Steve pushed the starchy covers off of him and got up. Silently, he watched as if something had seemingly taken over Steve's actions, with him suddenly ripping all of the sheets, including the pillow, off of the bed and tossing them onto the chair near the bed. Bucky took a few steps back as Steve then hauled the entire mattress off and thumped it to the floor. Pushing the mattress so that it was parallel to the wall, he then saw him take the bedding and toss that back onto the mattress in a haphazard pile.

As far as impulsive actions, Bucky considered that the strangest one he had ever seen Steve do, as Steve sat down among the pile and looked up at him. “Please sit?” Steve asked. He frowned at him, though he did not get a chance to ask what exactly was going on when Steve continued to say, “It's a little more comfortable than the foxholes we've dug.”

If it was an olive branch of peace, it certainly was an odd one, as Bucky approached and gingerly sat down, still holding the upside down tray and its contents. “My ass could've used a mattress in those foxholes after one night,” he ventured, hoping he was reading the peace offering correctly.

It seemed that he had guessed correctly as he heard Steve bark in laughter. It was a welcomed sound in his ears, and Bucky couldn't help but relax some more, though he tensed up slightly when Steve reached over and took the tray from him. “Sorry,” Steve said, folding up the paper and placed it and the pen to the side.

“Keeping Peggy's tradition?” he guessed, even though he had not read what Steve had written.

“I don't have to burn it,” Steve answered. “It's not a regret I have anymore.” He saw him take the compass and close that as well, putting it on top of the folded paper and pen, before picking up the bullet.

“Looks familiar,” Bucky cautiously stated, as he recognized the bullet in Steve's fingers, hoping that his carefully chosen words thus far would not result in one of them storming out again.

“You shot at me with this,” Steve said, staring at the bullet with some intensity. “November 21st, 1984. Gordon Park in DC.”

Bucky remained silent for a few long moments before quietly sighing as he stared down at his metal fingers. “I began talking to my counterpart, to James, a couple of months before the four of you got sent back in time. Wakanda set up a secret communications line between us, mainly because neither of us wanted the five Winter Soldier issue or anything like that to happen again. Only myself, James, and T'Challa knew that the line existed.”

He looked up and over towards Steve, seeing that he still held the bullet, but wasn't looking at it anymore. Those blue-green eyes of his were staring at him with a myriad of emotions flitting by. Bucky found that he could not hold his eyes on Steve, feeling guilty, and looked back down. “The commands were slowly removed – one by one over the course of ten weeks. The shutdown commands came after my therapist and doctor determined that it was okay for Shuri to proceed. In the middle of the shutdown commands removal, that's when I remembered what happened to the previous Black Widow, Yelena Belova, and the four of you being there.”

“Did it hurt?”

The question was so nakedly earnest, so sincere, and so full of worry that even though Bucky wanted to lie, wanted to reassure Steve that the procedures had caused no pain, he found himself unable to say so. “Yeah,” he breathed out.

“I shouldn't have yelled at you, Bucky,” Steve quietly said after a moment of silence. “I'm sorry for that. I just...”

“You had every right to,” he answered, rubbing the tip of his metal thumb over the tips of his metal fingers for a few moments. “My counterpart was nagging me to contact you as soon as the commands were removed. I just didn't want to, because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head slightly. It was a little stupid of him to clam up right at this moment and not wanting to continue to speak, not when he had confessed into the silence of his own hut about his fears.

“I'm not stable, Steve,” he said, glancing over at him. “You saw what I almost did to Romanov in the silo. James... he's right. What happened to me there was me getting lost in the remnants of my memories and Romanov's appearance... The commands were as much of a barrier to what I had done as the Winter Soldier, as they were of a crutch I used to keep myself sane. There is no more barrier, Steve, and the fight at the silo just proved my fears correct. I can't fight without being a liability – a threat to everyone.”

“You helped us at the skerry,” Steve pointed out, an unreserved gentleness in his tone that Bucky felt he didn't deserve to hear. “I think that proves otherwise. You also didn't shoot Natasha. You stopped yourself.”

“I was barely functional at the skerry,” he countered. “The voices, the memories still there in the storm at the center of my mind... I keep hearing them whenever I fight, and I'm afraid that one day, I'll get completely lost in them, if I keep fighting.”

“You came, Bucky. You came and you saved all of us,” Steve said, as Bucky felt him snake his right arm across his back, resting his hand around his right arm, pulling him closer.

“I shouldn't have accused you of breaking our promise, because you came when we... when _I_ needed it the most,” Steve continued, his words brushing across his left ear. “You're stronger now. You can control those memories – I've seen you do it at the silo. You might stumble and fall but I'm always there, Bucky, to catch you and help you back on to your feet.”

Bucky wanted to cry, thank him, do something in response to the heartfelt, touching words that Steve had said, but either he was more tired than he thought he was, or completely unused to such an intimate conversation, that he couldn't help but laugh a little. It was not a derisive laugh, but more something that he had not expected – not since... not since his father had tried to beat it out of him.

“It's...” he began, but fell silent as he found himself at a complete loss of words. He saw a slight uncertainty grow in Steve's eyes and found the courage to continue, saying, “I'm ruining the moment, am I?”

“Sort of,” Steve answered, the uncertainty dying away as Bucky saw that he was seeing some humor in moment with the ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

“Words that I didn't expect to ever hear from you. Practiced a lot on that?” he couldn't help but ask, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than he had in a long while.

Steve shook his head, saying, “Nope. All from the heart, and you're the only one I'd say it to anyways.”

“You never said it to Peggy?” he couldn't help but ask, though he realized that that was his mouth talking before his mind kicked him for continuing to ruin whatever this moment was between the two of them. “Sorry,” he quickly apologized.

“Peggy's not you,” was all Steve answered, as Bucky saw him glance down at his left hand that still held the bullet for a moment before looking back up. “And you're not her.”

“Maybe... maybe I would have said similar words to her, but I can't go back into the past and change anything,” Steve continued after a moment. “1984 taught me that. I told her who you were, to stop her from hunting you down, and to stop her from getting onto HYDRA's radar. She never told me who you were after I woke up from ice. I thought maybe it was some kind of resentment she had against me because I stopped her from pursing you, but Sharon... Sharon put it in another perspective that I hadn't considered. Peggy didn't want to change the future, just like I couldn't do that to Natasha and everyone else's future. As if both of us were bound or cursed by knowledge.”

“I'm sorry I put you through that kind of hell, Steve,” he stated. “I'm sorry that I--”

“You don't have to keep apologizing, Buck,” Steve interrupted, reaching over and clasping his left hand around Bucky's metal left, the sniper bullet wedged between their hands. “I forgive you. For everything.”

“Sor--” Bucky began, but caught himself, as both of the shared an amused look, laughing a little.

“Forward and together, until the end of the line?” Steve asked after a minute of silence, catching his eyes as he saw him look over with the familiar open warmth and kindness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding. “Forward and together, until the end of the line,” he repeated, but fell silent as he curiously watched Steve raise their hands up, staring at his metal hand with a strange intensity.

“It's detachable, Steve,” Bucky prompted after a moment of watching and wondering what he was doing. “Doesn't hurt to do so, and re-calibrating it is fast.”

Steve remained silent as Bucky saw him let go of his hand for a moment before taking the bullet and placed it within the palm of his metal hand. “Peggy told me a theory long ago,” Steve quietly began, laying his left hand over both the bullet and metal hand, before weaving their fingers together, curling his own. “That one agent, in the right place, at the right time with the right skills, could be more effective than an army. At that time, I didn't know that she was talking about you, Bucky.”

“While she might have meant it in the context of the war, now that I think about it some more, it applies also to life. You've always been there, at the right time, at the right place for every person you saved, including me. If you hadn't _been_ there at the playground the first time we met...”

He heard him sigh, and saw a sheepish smile appear, as Steve said, “Now _I'm_ ruining the moment.”

“No,” he disagreed, as he couldn't help but be amused at the stuttering and loss of words that he remembered seeing on Steve whenever Steve tried to talk to women. Steve's shyness and stumbling aside, he didn't think he needed words to understand what Steve was trying to convey.

Steve huffed out a breath, seemingly finding the words he wanted to say in that short moment to collect his thoughts. “What I'm trying to say, is that just know that I'll be there _for_ you and _with_ you, if you'll have me. Every step of the way, Bucky – always.”

Bucky was at a loss of words for a few long minutes as he realized that he had unconsciously curled his fingers around Steve's hand. The weight of the bullet seemed at least a hundred more times heavier than it really was as a flood of guilt mixed with a strange sense of relief filled him. How many years, decades, and memories long forgotten, lost, or shoved away had it been since he had hoped to hear those words said in an intimate tone that he had only dreamed in far away dream?

Steve's confession to him over a year ago before the assault on the silo had been eye-opening. But he knew that that had been a promise made in desperation, in grief, and in a false sense of hope that both of them knew that could be dashed in a litany of words. It had made him happy, yet sad. Now, it filled him with a mixture of hope and fear.

Hope, because...he wanted it to be true.

Fear, because he was not—he knew that he was **never** supposed to be Steve's North Star. Peggy was Steve's North Star, even after death. Peggy had been and still was the only good that Steve had left in the world and in their memories. Following that, then Steve was supposed to be _his_ North Star—

“People are going to talk, Steve,” Bucky whispered, half-afraid that it was all a dream, and that none of it was real.

“So let them. People always talk, speculate, and try to label things, Buck. They malign, they praise, they destroy, and they celebrate to fit their own views. That's all they ever do, because they can't see anything else.”

* * *

Bucky had been right about Natasha's early morning briefing prediction, though that did not mean that Steve was anymore awake than he usually was after getting one hour of sleep. He did not complain though, treasuring the hours of relative peace and quiet that he had had spent in the infirmary with Bucky at his side.

Laughter; a genuine, hearty laughter from Bucky that he had not heard in a long time still rang in his ears. It had been made over some inane joke that one of them had thrown out during the night. It still happily rang in his ears, even now, as he took a sip of the extremely bitter and strong coffee that Natasha had given to him as soon as he had entered the darkened briefing room.

“Stop staring as if you're either going to go kill or kiss him, Steve,” Natasha's murmur from beside him shook him out of his thoughts.

“What?” he questioned, glancing over at her, only to see her impishly smiling at him over the rim of her own coffee mug. Sure he had been watching Bucky methodically clean his sniper rifle in the darkened briefing room, wondering just how his best friend actually saw enough to make sure not a speck of dirt was within or on the rifle. But Steve didn't think he had been _staring_ as if he were a voyeur. That was Bucky's forte and preference.

“Did you guys kiss and make up? I pointed him to the infirmary, so make sure you give credit where credit is due,” she continued to say, giving him a teasing smile.

“Yeah, we did,” he sarcastically answered, making sure he kept the bare minimum of that tone in his voice. “Thinking about a threesome. Was wondering if you'd join.”

That teasing smile of hers bloomed into a genuine one as she chuckled. “You're finally getting the hang of it, Rogers. The student has almost bested the master.”

“Almost, eh?” he said, shaking his head slightly.

In a more serious tone, he said, “Thanks, Natasha... for not allowing him to leave me alone.” Steve took a quick glance over as he saw Bucky begin to quickly put the rifle back together, before returning his attention to Natasha. “It's...”

“Still a long journey, different paths that intersect and diverge,” she quietly answered, nodding in understanding. “It was similar a similar journey for me when Fury, Clint, and Coulson brought me in from the cold. Still isn't finished, but its a step-by-step process.”

The moment was ruined though, when her lips suddenly split into a grin as she said, “A girl can dream and wait for the invitation.”

“Nat...” he began, a little exasperated and annoyed at her, even though a part of him _knew_ that she was being facetious with her words.

“Romanov,” Bucky called out, as Steve glanced over to see him approach, sniper rifle slung across his back. He knew that there was a single bullet, refurbished and modified, in that sniper rifle. Before Natasha could say a word though, Steve saw Bucky perform a couple of gestures that he could only guess were Red Room signals. There was no rhyme or reason behind the strange gestures, but it was quite short and concise. He looked towards Natasha who frowned slightly before nodding seemingly in defeat.

“Do I want to know?” he questioned, curious but touched at whatever Bucky had said, done, gestured – Steve wasn't really sure – to temporarily stop Natasha's teasing.

“No,” both of them stated at the same time; a little too emphatically in Steve's opinion.

The nearest door to the briefing room swished open, allowing for no further discussion on what had just happened. James entered first, giving all three of them a slightly puzzled look before approaching. “Barnes,” Natasha greeted, nodding once, returning to stand on Steve's left.

“Good morning,” Steve said. He noted that Bucky merely shrugged in a fairly careless greeting towards James before turning his attention to the projector table, standing to Steve's right while fiddling with the interface on the table.

“Morning,” the agent answered, before approaching and held out a hand to Steve, saying, “We okay, Steve?”

Steve considered the man's words for a moment, knowing that he had every right to be angry at James as he had been with Bucky. James had had several opportunities to tell him that Bucky was doing better, had probably even wrestled with letting him know. That had been courtesy of Bucky's comment last night about James's nearly incessant urging towards Bucky to tell him, Steve, that he was doing better. Yet, James had kept his silence, kept seemingly lock-step with Bucky.

Steve found that he didn't want to know why James did it. He should have presumed that it was second nature for an intelligence officer of James's calibre to do something like that.

“We're okay,” he said, clasping and shaking James's hand.

“Good. I hope there's some good news to be had,” James answered, letting go and stepping away to stand on the right side of Bucky.

“How's Stevie doing?” Steve asked, all good humor, feelings, and restfulness leaving him as he placed the coffee mug down on the table. He watched James pull up a bunch of reports, both local, international, and SHIELD-filed, up onto the table's projection screen. Nothing that he could see from his side of the table indicated anything about HYDRA or their allies attacking the silo.

He would have also asked how James was doing in light of Caroline being taken, but that was a conversation to be done in private. He didn't know if anyone else knew of Caroline's parentage besides him. He also didn't know if James had even 'crossed the mental proverbial bridge', to admit that James himself was the father of Caroline. Thus, Steve was left with only one recourse, that was, to acknowledge only that Caroline was Stevie's daughter.

He didn't get an answer as the door swished open again, and Stevie entered. Steve immediately approached and gently put an arm around her, guiding her to the table. He would have said that she looked like hell, but she physically didn't. Her neat, orderly, and usual appearance in her uniform that included her shield, was anything but chaotic. It was her eyes that gave it away though; full of anguish and worry, and stricken with fear.

“We'll get her back,” he said, as James stepped away from where he was to take Stevie from him.

“We have to,” Stevie said, situating herself on the right side of James while nodding. Steve heard the tremble of uncertainty in her tone, as she detached the shield from her back and laid it against the foot of the table.

Any further consolation that could be given was halted for the moment as the door on the opposite side of the briefing room opened. Peggy entered first, and was followed by Barnes, who was clad in his metallic-like armored uniform, sans cowled helmet. Peggy took up the space next to Stevie's right while Barnes situated himself on Natasha's left and Peggy's right. Nothing on either of their faces gave away what either were thinking.

“After being briefed on the proposed mission, along with what you would face in the reality that Private Barnes is from, I had strongly considered rescinding the 'go' order,” Peggy began without preamble. “The crossing will be dangerous, but what the five of you will encounter is even more so. I'd rather send another Strike Team to retrieve Caroline, and a different team to steal the Red Skull's reality portal device. There is also a very strong possibility that this mission may fail, and that all who cross will be stuck forever in another reality. But the decision is not mine to make. It is your own.”

Peggy then stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her, as she looked over and nodded towards Barnes. Steve had heard her words, had heard her speak without any sort of bias that gave away her worry, but there had been a clear ring of apprehension in her tone. They all understood that it could potentially be a one-way trip for all of them, but it was the the mission put forth at the moment – to steal the Red Skull's reality device – that made him uneasy.

He knew that Peggy was a strong woman, resilient even in this reality. She faced adversity head-on and did not shy away from things. For her to explicitly state those words was something he never thought to hear her utter. Whatever Barnes had briefed her about between his offer to find a way to transport the five of them to his reality, and now, _scared_ Peggy.

Barnes took a reluctant step forward and did something between the interface of the table and his armor. The hardlight shield on the man's forearm flared active for a moment before dying down. A few seconds later, a structured tree diagram of pictures and names was projected on the screen.

“Oh, God,” Steve couldn't help but whisper as he found his eyes riveted to the top of tree. The face – familiar, the short-cropped hair – familiar, the uniform – eerily familiar, but the eyes... those eyes were not familiar at all; not what he saw in the mirror that stared back at him.

“How...” Natasha began, looking just as unsettled, as her voice cracking on that single word managed to get Steve to tear his eyes away from the nightmare being projected. He found that he could not meet Barnes's eyes at all – could not even stand to look at the stars-and-stripes uniform either.

“Steve Rogers was assassinated over a decade ago,” Steve heard the man quietly state, as he stared down at his hands that were gripping the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. “Through technology belonging to enemies unknown at that time, he was secretly resurrected and reborn as the Red Skull.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	13. Memory: злобный

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**злобный** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Location: SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

“Come on, they're all out for some testing or training...”

“...the view is really nice. I mean, you can't beat just standing there, watching all of those women bent over their desks each day...”

“Mmmhmm, tell me something I don't know... but I want to see actual action...”

“....the hell can we join them...?”

“I heard the best chance to do it, is whenever the pretty-boy is off on some press tour...”

“He was part of that twinkle-toes USO tour... you know... the one where...”

“...heard from someone upstairs that the pansy spends more time...”

“Oh, no.”

It was more of the clatter and chatter of voices descending down to Stark's laboratory than young engineer, David Brewster's exclamation laced with dread that caused Bucky to look up from his work. Steve and his call sign had never been mentioned in what he had picked up, but he knew that there had been some really nasty rumors floating around about Steve as of late. He didn't know how those rumors started, but it had been incredibly difficult to stamp out – and he thought that it had finally been completely stamped out by Peggy and him.

It sounded as if remnants or a new batch were being started again, as the voices died down to more benign discussions regarding how to get one of the more popular secretaries to agree to a date with one of them. Bucky returned his attention to his work; he had been taking apart the modified weaponry that Stark's engineers had recently tested. He needed more information, more unobtrusive observations to try to figure out the source of the malignant rumors, before he could do anything. The footsteps of the soldiers continued down, getting closer to the floor of the laboratory.

Whenever the Commandos returned from the field to SSR Headquarters, all modifications that went into the weaponry were always taken apart – or destroyed if it could not be salvaged. It was for the security and safety of the rest at Headquarters that none of Stark's unique weaponry remain functional when not in usage.

Most of the weapons were already stored back in the cage. These few sidearms and shotgun that were out, had been taken out yesterday for tests on new modifications that Stark's team of engineers had made. The rest of the Commandos were currently at the airfield north of the city, running tests on more modifications for different weapons. He would have gone with them, except that the last time Stark had made him run through the tests, he had broken not only the modifications, but had also fused the barrel of the gun he had been testing, _and_ set half of the testing strip on fire.

Bucky mentally shrugged as he saw out of the corner of his eyes, the young engineer stepping away from the disassembly station. It was not entirely his fault that he fired weapons faster and with more intent than the rest of his fellow Commandos. It was also why his sniper rifle was customized and modified exclusively by David, who was also stuck here disassembling yesterday's test weapons.

He briefly looked back to see David approaching a group of three uniformed men who looked a little too fresh-faced to be a part of the 107th. They all had the 'MP' arm bands around their sleeves. He knew that Colonel Phillips had requested Replacements to fill the ranks of the 107th, but rumor had it that his request had been denied. It looked as if High Command had only decided sending more MPs was their answer to Phillips's request.

Rumor also had it that High Command had stated that those pushing in from Normandy needed the troops more than the SSR. He didn't blame High Command for making such a call, but it did leave a slight sour taste in his mouth, considering what he had heard about Normandy and the ongoing fight in the region.

Steve being Steve, had wanted to participate in the drop on Normandy, but Phillips had not authorize his temporary release from SSR duties. Bucky had thought that that would've been the last straw and that Steve would actually disobey orders to go support an important Allied operation. That was until--

“Sir,” a hissed whisper issued up.

Bucky looked down from where he was standing, towards the grate within the floor of the laboratory. There was a barely visible face shining through the slats, but there was something small, paper-like sticking slightly through the grating. Though half of the person on the other side of the grating was hidden in shadows, he saw enough to recognize who it was: Emily Hattersfield.

The young woman was one of Peggy's most trusted code-breakers, and one of the very few who knew how to navigate the catacombs of this underground base. The fact that she was here, holding up a tiny piece of paper told Bucky that something had happened. It wasn't anything alarming, but for her to bring a message from Peggy meant that there was something afoot.

_Afoot, Barnes...really..._ his thoughts poked him at using such a term, as he made to reach over on the table, but used the gesture to knock a hammer to the ground. “Sorry!” he exclaimed, as he glanced back, schooling his expression to a sheepish look as he knelt down to pick up the hammer. At the same time, he took the note from Emily and held up a hand for her to wait for a moment, as he didn't know if Peggy needed an answer.

“Sirs... I'm going to have to ask you to not touch those weapons...” David was saying.

Bucky quickly opened the note as soon as he placed the hammer back on the table, having seen that the group of three were loitering at the table where the modified weapons had not yet been cleaned or disassembled. He frowned slightly as he read the note, but when he glanced over at the three men again, a rather interesting plan began to form in his mind.

He tucked the note into a pocket. None of the three MPs had recognized him when he had briefly glanced over at them, which meant that they were fresh off the proverbial boat. They were either freshly graduated from training, or had high enough merit in service elsewhere to be trustworthy enough to be assigned to the SSR. It also meant that they most likely had heard the stories about the SSR, the 107th, and definitely about the Howling Commandos. Perhaps what he had heard earlier was not a resurgence of the rumors...

“Hey,” he called out, waving his hand in greeting as he walked over to where the three MPs were. “You here to help discharge the weapons so we can take them apart?”

He watched as slight confusion flitted across their faces before they understood what he was implying. “Yeah!” one of the MPs enthusiastically nodded, before the other two followed suit.

“Good,” he said, clapping his hands together and turned to haul three crates from below the table up. “Been asking for help for a while,” he said, as he took two of the weapons laid out on the table and placed it into the crate, ignoring the puzzled look that David was giving him. The MPs followed suit, as he continued to say, “Thanks for coming down here. Commandos don't ever empty out these whenever they're done testing and playing with them, and I didn't want to have to spend all day shooting at the targets myself. Gets kind of boring, you know?”

“Yeah,” the MP nearest to him agreed. “Say, I'm Matin. Ed Matin.” Matin pointed to the two others as they finished loading up the crates, with the shotgun being the last one laid across the crate in front of Bucky, saying, “That's Teddy Gunter, and Hosea Vasquez.”

“Just call me James,” he said, reaching over and shaking their hands. “You ever ask for me around by rank, you'll get some really strange looks. Apparently, everyone here knows me by just plain old 'James'.”

As the three MPs laughed at his joke, Bucky turned to David and asked, “Hey, can you go show Vasquez where the sandbags are? I'm hoping that maybe the pitcher's machine isn't being used today, so we can have some practice shooting flying targets, rather than the boring paper ones.”

“Uh, sure,” David said, managing to school his confusion into a somewhat neutral, if not still worriedly cautious look. With Vasquez and David off to the side, and the other two MPs hoisting their crates up, Bucky quickly made a short Morse code signal with his right hand behind his back, knowing that Emily was able to see it from where she was.

He then lifted his crate up as well, and gestured for the other two MPs to go a head of him first. Vasquez and David followed behind him, and when they all exited the main area of the lab, Bucky took the lead and led them through the halls towards the SSR's shooting range. He made sure that his pace was just slow enough to give Emily as much time as possible to return to Peggy, but not slow enough to cause the three MPs to be suspicious. The range was underground, but it was a place for all personnel to practice handling normal weapons. Stark's modified weaponry were never brought to the underground range.

The sounds of someone firing a gun at the range were heard before he reached the entrance, but nevertheless, Bucky entered, pushing the slightly propped door open with the crate he was carrying. “Marge,” he greeted Peggy as he saw her place her gun down on the stand, and step out from her booth to see who had arrived.

Emily was standing behind Peggy, head slightly down and looking demurely at all of them, though Bucky saw the smallest twitch of her lips in laughter. It was not quite the signal he expected to receive, but it told him that she had gotten word to Peggy with regards to his response to the note.

“James,” she answered in kind.

“Mind if we borrow the range, if you're done with practice?” he asked.

“If you would let us stay and watch? I think I've gotten the hang of... what was it called... recoil?” Peggy began, adopting a rather airy personality, as she feigned a little ignorance. “Yes, recoil. And Emily... well, you know.”

“Sure,” he answered, placing the crate down, before turning slightly to the MPs who had followed him in and were giving Peggy rather curious looks. “They're just here to help empty out the weapons before we disassemble them.”

“Oh, Mr. Stark's weapons?” Peggy said, pitching her tone so that she sounded like a breathless giddy girl. “I've heard so much about them. May I take a look at the shotgun? I promise, I won't fire it... don't even know how to handle one.”

“Hmmm,” he said, feigning a concerned look, as he saw the MPs begin to set up along the booths, looking quite excited at the prospect of practicing their marksmanship with the vaunted Howard Stark weaponry. David had maneuvered the crates of small baseball sized sandbags to the side.

“I don't know, Marge,” he answered. “I mean, you know the rules...”

“Nonsense,” Peggy stated, shaking her head as she feigned coyness. “What happens here, doesn't have to ever leave here.”

“Oh... she's got you there, James,” Matin called out, throwing a smirking grin at him.

Bucky pretended to consider it, but the response that the MPs gave both him and Peggy confirmed Peggy's note. In the brief moment in which the MPs had their full attention on the targets down range, Peggy's expression became blank and she inclined her head ever so slightly. They needed to continue to draw the MPs into the web of discipline.

“All right,” he said. “Emily and David, if you would please go fetch that modified pitching machine?”

“Okay,” the young woman happily chirped.

Bucky picked up the shotgun and handed it to Peggy, who placed it on her booth's stand to seemingly examine it as the first shots from the pistols that the MPs were handling, were unleashed. Due to the architecture and construction of the range, there was a unique acoustically damping material lining the entire range. It had been another of Stark's inventions, but it proved to be useful, as it did not require anyone using the range to wear earmuffs to dampen the noise.

He watched the MPs firing away for a moment, noting their stances and how they held the weapons in their hands. They were trained, but either they had slacked off and High Command had given them to the SSR for disciplinary actions, or they had somehow scraped through training by the skin of their teeth.

“Christ, my grandmother could shoot better than them, God rest her soul,” he heard Peggy mutter, having seen and assessed the same conclusion as he did. She was not staring at their stances though, and had her eyes on the targets they were aiming at.

Bucky picked up one of the pistols in the crate and joined them, shooting only once though, and making sure he deliberately missed the center of the target. His pride made him miss the head of the paper target, but land the shot on the neck.

“Ouch,” he heard Gunter comment as he glanced over to see the MP scrunch up his face for a moment in response to the shot. “That Kraut is not going to be singing praises anytime soon.”

“I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Don't seem to fight a lot of Krauts these days.”

“Oh, you 107th, James?” Matin asked, as Bucky caught him leaning slightly out of his booth.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You guys got a briefing before coming here, right?”

“Yeah,” Matin continued to say, as the other door to the range opened, and Bucky briefly glanced over to see Emily and David return with the modified pitching machine in tow. “Some group called HYDRA. That's what they said that we're fighting. Not Krauts.”

“They're an offshoot science group from them who researches the occult,” David immediately stated, before realizing that he may have just given away what Peggy and he, Bucky, were trying to extract from the MPs, while having some 'fun' at the disrespectful MPs' expense. Bucky saw the young man clamp his mouth shut before seemingly finding the modified pitching machine interesting.

“Yeah, we got that as well,” Vasquez said, looking slightly puzzled. “Some odd stuff going around on the fringes of this war. I mean, 107th is where its at, but man, I was hoping to see some action. I love the view, especially the ladies in the secretaries pool—I mean, just how many secretaries do you need at a place like this anyways?”

“They make life better in a war, if you know what I mean,” Gunter insinuated in answer. “Seems like there's one for each of the brass, and maybe some leftovers.”

Matin and Vasquez both nodded in appreciation. Bucky could feel the heat of both Emily and Peggy's glares at the three MPs even without turning to see them, as the three men had just insulted the majority of the code breakers' pool that they had assumed were 'secretaries'.

“You know how we can join the Howling Commandos, James?” Vasquez asked.

“Nope,” he answered, shaking his head, while keeping his growing anger at the three from coloring his tone. His bile at just how undisciplined these men were, even after the supposed briefing that they had been given, was not quite filled yet, but he wasn't ready to pull the rug out from under them.

“I'm just a grunt on the bottom of the food chain. Just looking for a leg up on the world, same as you folks,” he continued to say.

“Aw, damn,” Matin said, shaking his head slightly, before resuming firing his gun.

“You sure you wanna continue to stay here, Miss Marge...” Vasquez began, peering out from his booth but trailed off, as Bucky saw an uncertain look appear on his face.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky stilled ever so slightly as he slowly placed his gun down, and turned around. The sounds of the others firing away had also abruptly died. If there was anyone that Bucky did not want to walk into the range at the moment, it was Colonel Phillips. “Sir,” he greeted as respectfully as he could, mentally wincing in anticipation for Phillips to ream him out for what he was doing.

“I see you and Agent Carter already started to instill some discipline and training into our new MPs,” Phillips stated without humor in his tone. “Good. Have them report to Lieutenant Halsey to get their transfer paperwork sorted out after you're done with them.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered in a crisp tone, giving him a snapped salute.

Phillips returned it rather casually before saying, “Agent Carter, a word?”

“Yes, sir,” Peggy answered, and followed Philips as the man turned and left. It was only when their footsteps faded that he turned back to face the MPs, noting that David was trying his damnest to not smile in victory. Emily was still glaring at the MPs, while the MPs wore various pale shades of shock on their expressions.

“Um...w-we're s-sorry, s-sir...”

“I'm not an officer, Private Matin,” he coldly stated, folding his arms across his chest, glaring at the three MPs. “And we still have work to do, before I haul your sorry asses to Lieutenant Halsey.”

He let his hands drop and stepped into the slot where Peggy had left the shot gun. “First,” he said, picking it up and pressing the butt end of the shotgun into the hollow area between his shoulder and arm. “The entire 107th are known as the Howling Commandos. That includes Captain America. We support the SSR, and they support us. You wanna join the outfit, don't spread malignant rumors about any of its members, or insult any persons of the SSR. Word gets around fast here. That includes not insulting the code-breakers. They're not 'secretaries', they're specialists at what they do, and without them, we'd be singing Kraut songs.”

He glanced over towards Emily and David, and gave the two a single nod of his head before returning his attention to the target down the range. “Second: don't touch any of the weapons down in Howard Stark's laboratory unless you have prior permission from Colonel Phillips himself. Not me, not your CO, Lieutenant Halsey, not even Captain Rogers. I'm going to say it again: you get permission from the colonel _himself_.”

He heard David pick up the small sandbag and hand it to Emily, who went over and placed it into the modified pitching machine. “Finally,” he began, just as a _thunk_ indicated that the sandbag had been launched into the range. He briefly tracked it, and pulled the trigger on the shotgun. The sandbag shattered, and he placed the shotgun back down.

Turning his full attention back onto the MPs, Bucky then stated, “Work on your aim with those pistols in your hands. All three of you have skills that are atrocious for MPs.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**злобный** _

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Peggy, always protecting Steve, no matter if he's physically there or not; and the SSR.
> 
> I have it in my head-canon that these two trolled the entire SSR by being sort-of frenemies in public (after Peggy completely ignored Bucky during the CA:TFA bar scene), but secretly watched each other's backs like brother-sister. That also makes **Winter's Ghost** (Story 3) even more tragic from a relationship standpoint between Peggy, Steve, and Bucky.


	14. отъезд (Departure, re: Homecoming)

**Chapter 7: отъезд (Departure, re: Homecoming)**

 

“Steve Rogers was assassinated over a decade ago. Through technology belonging to enemies unknown at that time, he was secretly resurrected and reborn as the Red Skull.”

Steve wasn't sure if he was suddenly thrust underwater, but the words being said sounded muffled, incoherent, almost incomprehensible. The table under his hands creaked, as he stared at his white-knuckled grip along the edge of it. That noise could've been due to shoddy workmanship—a blue-silver hued metal hand suddenly appeared in his vision. It covered his right hand, with its burnished fingers curled lightly over it – Bucky. At nearly the same time, he felt a gentle press of a small hand through his uniform, on his left upper arm – Natasha.

He blinked, and looked back up, the sounds of the room immediately rushing back—“Did he resist?” he asked, as he felt Natasha remove her hand from his arm, though Bucky had not removed his hand lying on top of his.

Silence immediately answered him, as Steve felt the majority of eyes around the room land on him. He averted his eyes again, finding that he could not look up and stare at the diagram, nor at Bucky's stars-and-stripes clad counterpart. He needed to know, he needed the answer to his question, however painful it was to hear, as he could not settle the strange, unidentifiable feeling within his heart to see himself on that screen with blood red eyes.

“Did. He. Resist?” he asked again.

“There had been evidence of it,” he heard Barnes answer. “Charles Xavier, the strongest telepath we had on our side, found evidence of broken shards within Skull's memories. But he said that those fragments were like sand, compared to the diamond that was the Skull's control. That was eight years ago.”

“And?” Steve heard his counterpart demand, and looked up again to see her leaning forward slightly, hands splayed across the table, but looking quite furious.

“Xavier died from a aneurysm in his brain a couple of weeks after that attempt. We could only surmise that Skull had a mental defense mechanism ready for any telepath invading his mind to try to control, takeover, or kill him. No other telepath on our side was as strong or skilled enough to follow Xavier's route.”

“How the hell did this happen?” Stevie demanded as soon as Barnes fell silent.

“The original Red Skull died of old age,” Barnes answered after a moment, as Steve saw the display being manipulated enough to shove the eerie photo of himself with such a malevolent look away. Other portraits were highlighted in the diagram tree. “Or so I was told. One of his acquaintances had managed to somehow clone him. The clone somehow acquired a Cosmic Cube during the brief time he was consolidating his power to take revenge against Captain America and his allies.”

“Like the one we have here?” Natasha asked, holding up the vibranium encased Cube.

“Similar,” Barnes answered. “They're all unique and I don't know what or how the one here works. The one Skull had in his possession absorbed fear to power it. A man named Alexander Lukin wanted it for purposes that I knew not, except for the fact that he reactivated me from cold storage to assassinate the Red Skull. I did so, retrieved the Cube and returned it to Lukin. What I didn't know at that time was that Skull had been transferring his 'essence' of sorts into the Cube. He had been holding it in his bare hands when I killed him. Lukin held the Cube without any sort of barrier as well. He eventually took over and possessed Lukin's body after the Cube was destroyed.”

In response to the man's words Natasha immediately placed the Cube on the table, glancing at her hands. “That's why only metal objects can safely hold it, Natalia,” Barnes stated. “It's safe to hold, so long as that vibranium shell is on it.”

“Go on,” Steve somehow managed to find his voice, the courage, and will to continue to stand there and _listen_ to just how a counterpart of his and Stevie's became the Red Skull. Bucky's cool metal hand on top of his was helping him control his impulse, but it was difficult to not just punch something in the room.

“A year or so after the Cube's destruction, an incident happened that resulted in the Superhero Registration Act being proposed, in an effort to curb, regulate, and hold every 'superhero' who was active accountable for their actions.” Barnes paused in his narrative, and Steve saw him glance over towards Stevie saying, “HYDRA propaganda aside, I read about what happened here. You and Stark took the same side – against the act and built a lot of momentum to sway the voters and congresspeople. Stark was assassinated by HYDRA because of it, wasn't he?”

Steve saw Stevie silently nod, and did not miss seeing the near-habitual twisting of a ring that was no longer on her finger. “Yes,” she stated, her voice cracking with that one word, as Steve saw James gently place a hand on her shoulder, giving her as much comfort as one could, in the face of this horrific briefing.

“About four years ago,” she followed up after a moment. “Sniper from the rooftop across from the courthouse. Lax security drawn up to look like there were enough federal agents covering the area.”

“It was similar...” Barnes began, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “It was similar to how Steve died. Nicholas Fury, former Director of SHIELD, had gone AWOL to secretly bring me in from the cold after I destroyed the Skull... or rather Lukin's Cube. Being in the direct path of that Cube also woke me up from conditioning, so he tasked me to root out what was going on peripherally in and out of SHIELD. He was secretly supporting Steve's stance against the Registration Act.

“We had another mole in SHIELD, Steve's girl Sharon Carter, who was willing to play double-agent to get Fury and I the information that neither of us could access and that we needed. On the surface, everything looked fine, even though there had been many separate incidents that involved AIM and other entities. It all looked separate on paper, even in SHIELD's incident reports, but Fury was on to something when Steve finally surrendered to authorities after getting into a really bad grudge match against Stark, who was for the Registration Act.”

Steve did not miss the concerned look that his counterpart threw him, but it was missed by Barnes as the man took a deep breath and specifically zoomed into two portraits directly below the Red Skull's new face. “Crossbones and Syn... aliases for Brock Rumlow and Cynthia Schmidt. Syn was the Red Skull's daughter, and Crossbones was his biggest supporter and primary enforcer.”

“The Red Skull has a daughter?” Bucky exclaimed, as Steve glanced over to see a slightly incredulous look on his face.

“Had,” Barnes answered, giving Bucky a chilly look. “I killed her about a decade ago.”

Bucky said nothing in return except to school his expression back to a neutral look, though Steve did feel the minute pressure of his metal hand resting on his increase for a brief moment. Steve didn't say anything, as the narrative continued. “With Steve's surrender and public processing into the DC courthouses, Crossbones attempted to cause already heightened tensions to flare. He deliberately aimed for one of the feds escorting Steve, forcing Steve to step into the path of that bullet. Sharon and I were already on the ground, ready to spring a jailbreak on Fury's orders. I was a part of the civilian crowd, while Sharon used her SHIELD credentials to get closer access.

“Sharon got to Steve while I traced the bullet and sniper perch to Crossbones. While I was chasing that lead, Sharon shot Steve three times in the stomach. He was dead on arrival at the hospital. Syn, she was at the hospital as backup to Crossbones and Sharon, and confirmed it to the Skull's vast network, which had been under the control of Lukin. At this point—”

“Wait, _Sharon Carter_ , shot Steve? Your Steve Rogers? She killed him?” Natasha interrupted, looking a little uneasy.

“She was...brainwashed... under mind control... something,” Barnes said, shaking his head slightly, as if welcoming the interruption. “We never did figure it out in full as to what exactly happened to her, other than her actions were not of her own volition. She was killed in a staged 'accident' a few months after Steve's resurrection, confirming my suspicions that Steve was not Steve when he was...”

“Lukin. He wasn't in control of his actions was he?” Steve heard Bucky ask, as he felt him remove his metal hand resting on top of his and reach out to manipulate the diagram to zoom back out for a moment, and brought up Lukin's portrait.

“Red Room memory?” Natasha asked.

Steve was sure he was not the only one to notice the very visible flinch that Barnes gave at the mention of 'Red Room'.

“Not sure yet,” Bucky answered, seemingly ignoring the action.

“No, Lukin was not in control of most of his actions by that point,” Barnes said, recovering. “Not according to Stark's analysis from a corporate standpoint. Somehow, in the course of less than a year, Lukin's company went from cash-strapped to cash flowing...overflowing. They brought out most of the top energy, and defense research and development companies. They nearly bankrupted Stark Industries just before the Registration Act came into being, but they eventually forced Stark to sell off almost everything in his books. Digging into financial records didn't work, because Lukin had friends everywhere in the government – HYDRA-affiliated friends, even within SHIELD.

“It's how they got to Sharon... how they were able to develop the tech to freeze Steve in time and drag him through the so-called temporal thread. Sharon had been on the deactivated roster and was seeing a psychiatrist who was working under an alias. The guy's actual name was Dr. Faustus, and it was through those sessions that he did something to make her shoot Steve. We were never able to capture Faustus alive, even after he defected and walked away from working with the Skull.”

Barnes paused, and in a quieter tone, he said, “It's also another reason why I blew all of your covers at that gala. I couldn't stand to see Faustus try to work whatever voodoo thing he does with peoples' minds again.”

“Thank you...” James began, grimacing ever so slightly, as if he could not believe what he was saying, “for doing that.”

The only response that the intelligence officer got in return was a nod from Barnes, before Barnes continued to say, “When Sharon shot Steve, the bullets also delivered nanotracers into his bloodstream. Sharon's blood contained the same thing, and in the interim between Steve's apparent death and resurrection, she returned to the Skull's fold.

“The trauma of Steve's death was enough to begin shaking whatever... thing... had control over her mind and actions. Skull and his forces tried to divert attention away from Sharon's disappearance and what they were doing. By then, because of how the cards had fallen, Stark became the Director of SHIELD, and put together the pieces. Skull's SHIELD infiltration was not yet strong enough at that point to prevent Stark from discovering a series of breadcrumbs. We found Sharon and sprung her from her captors, but Skull had just enough cover in SHIELD to blind us from what he had really done with Sharon's actions.

“He somehow _pulled_ Steve through time, him having been frozen at that moment when he was shot by the nanotracers. I never fully understood the tech behind it, but it had been a device built by von Doom and modified by the Skull's tech associate, Armin Zola. It was destroyed some years later, I think, in an attempt to make sure that those of us left alive wouldn't have a chance to reverse whatever he had done.

“It was through that device that the Skull transferred his soul...essence... himself having been stuck in Lukin's body, into Steve. But he learned his lesson with Lukin's erratic behavior, and laid low within Steve's mind. He even orchestrated a grand finale of a battle to end all battles against a replica of himself in an android body to fight. Many of us believed that the Skull died when that android body of his was dusted.

“The first sign that I began to see that were not 'Steve' was not the fact that he didn't want to take the mantel of Captain America back. He made a deal with the US government to work with SHIELD in a strategic capacity. That gave him broader insight into all operations going on, on US soil. It seemed so normal back then.

“The second sign was that Syn, under secret orders from her father before his 'death', had found one of the Skull's artifacts. It brought the war of the gods down to Earth, an Asgardian family death match. The Serpent and Syn, who was possessed by some kind of magical hammer, versus Thor and the rest of us non-Asgardians.

“Skull knew that he needed to divert mine and Natalia's suspicions, since the two of us were primarily the ones who helped Stark dig up a lot of mismatching, strange data in the aftermath of Steve's death. So he, as Steve, 'saved' Natalia, Sam Wilson, and I in DC. It was where he had had Syn target first in an attempt to kill Captain America, again. I thought it was a little convenient that Steve showed up to help us at the nick of time, when most communications were down and coordination between the Avengers and other groups were incredibly difficult to establish.

“Steve did the usual rallying of the people and led the clash against Syn and the Serpent, tip of the spear... all of that sort of thing. While Thor was fighting the Serpent, he and I fought against Syn. I killed Syn during that battle after Thor struck down the Serpent, giving his life in the process. Steve got really mad at me for killing Syn, having wanted to subdue and take Syn alive as a prisoner. Back then, I thought it was just because of our different experiences after we had both had 'died' in the war, had ended up developing different philosophies. I walked away from being Captain America.

“In hindsight, I should have seen the want to capture Syn as a prisoner as the turning point between Steve being Steve, and Steve being the Red Skull. But I didn't. It wasn't until Sharon's 'accidental' death that I began to truly suspect him. People just don't go in for a routine medical checkup and die in less than five minutes from rapid onset radiation poisoning from a X-ray machine, with no other casualties in their vicinity.

“It took a while to convince the others who were close friends with Steve, especially the Avengers, but Natalia was able to after a series of 'accidents' and subtle power grabs made to look like a more natural tightening of the so-called belt, proved her correct. Cracks were beginning to show throughout the groups of registered and unregistered superheros. Skull knew that he had to do something fast, and as Steve, his sudden support for all superheroes to disband and 'retire' took everyone by surprise.

“It was too late for many of us to do anything. Skull's people were _everywhere_ – schools, post office, delis, police station – you name it, he had people in place less than a year after he was 'resurrected'. Those lucky enough to escape and hide from the months' long purge, did so.”

“I don't want to bring you to my reality,” Barnes stated, bringing the projection back down so that every face on the tree diagram was visible. “I would like for all of you to just stay here and stay away, because apart from Syn, Lukin, and Faustus, every single person on this diagram is still alive, still active, and still maintaining Skull's world vision – an Earth under his command and doctrine of HYDRA. No one is brainwashed, no one has chip implants to control them. Everyone just...subscribes to it. It's where no superheroes, no 'good guys' or 'bad guys' are walking the streets.

“There's only a handful of us left. Of the seven sent to different realities to try to stop the Red Skull from acquiring Cosmic Cubes, I don't even know if any of my compatriots succeeded in their mission. I don't even know how long time has passed between here and my reality. For all I know, returning to my reality could be an instant death sentence. It also may be impossible to retrieve the Skull's portal device and get any of you back to your reality.”

The silence that fell among those in the briefing room was quiet and very uncomfortable. Steve felt more than revolted at the fact that the Red Skull had essentially 'won' in that reality; a far more secured victory than HYDRA had had here. Dislodging another HYDRA-controlled reality was not at the top of his list, but he didn't know what other recourse they had here.

They had to get home. Caroline had been taken by the Red Skull for purposes unknown, and he could not stand to see injustice being wrought, even it was going to be a one-way trip. He wasn't one to sit about—

“Syn,” Natasha spoke up, breaking the silence. “It sounds like the Red Skull trusted her with a lot of the important stuff. Besides the old blood connection, anything else stand out to you about her?”

“Rumor had it that before the original Skull died, he rapidly aged her up using some device,” Barnes answered. “My guess is that he needed a reasonably aged heir to take over his work. He's not dying now, so I'm not sure for what purpose he needs Caroline Rogers.”

Steve heard him sigh, looking down at his armor-covered hands for a moment before shaking his head and looked back up. Until that moment, Steve had not realized just how much Bucky – even James – did the same thing – look at their hands as if they were covered in so much blood that none of it could be washed off. He felt a pang of a heartache bloom within him for Bucky; for all three of them.

“Look,” Barnes said, sounding disappointed as Steve saw his eyes roam around, catching all of their attention. “It's still your decision as Director Carter says, but I'm going to lay down two rules if you're going to follow me back. One: I have no idea where the hell we're going to end up, so all of you – yes, including the two of you—” Barnes paused, pointing at his two counterparts “—are going to have to listen and obey every order I give until we can reach safety. That means no going 'rogue', sideways, off on your own, whatever. Got that?”

“We're not children,” Bucky stated, looking a little offended. It eerily mirrored the expression on James's face, making the two of them almost twin-like.

“I had to say that to a team of Young Avengers a few years ago, so forgive me if I'm a little pedantic,” Barnes snapped.

“Bucky,” Steve hissed, nudging him with his elbow, while shaking his head. He knew that it was pedantic of Bucky's counterpart to say such a thing, but considering what had happened in that reality, it had probably saved or prolonged the lives of whomever were on this 'Young Avengers' team.

“All right,” James answered after a moment. “And rule number two?”

“We only go after the reality device and Caroline Rogers. That's it,” Barnes stated. “We don't try to take down HYDRA, their allies, or whatnot. We don't even contemplate going after the Red Skull, even if he's in the vicinity of the device or the girl. It's an in-and-out for the five of you, and I'll destroy that device after you guys leave.”

Surprisingly, Steve found that he was fairly okay with the proposal. It was an alternate to the thoughts he had about possibly toppling another HYDRA-controlled reality, even though a part of him rebelled against such thoughts. Yet, he couldn't let go of the thought, the _need_ to find some way to erase that tone of despair that he kept hearing in Barnes's voice – to give some kind of hope.

“What if—” he began.

“Don't,” Barnes cut him off, shaking his head, and wiped away the projection. “Just... don't. This is not a negotiation. These are the rules. If you're going to follow me to there, this is it.”

Steve caught his counterpart's eyes briefly flicking over towards him, silently communicating her reluctant agreement with what was put forth. He didn't blame her for wanting to adhere to Barnes's rules – she theoretically had more stake in this than he had. He, along with Bucky, and Natasha if she was willing to, could theoretically remain here and live in relative peace for the rest of their lives – continuing to help SHIELD rebuild the world. Both he and Bucky wouldn't have to continue to live as fugitives from the law, and—

It was just a dream; a wistful one that he knew that could never come true. The 'Mad Titan' was coming, and Thor's warnings about the Infinity Stones still rang in his ears. His circuitous thoughts landed back on the one thing that kept constant in his life since he had woken from ice: Earth needed her protectors, even if they were fractured.

He glanced over towards Natasha and saw her nod once – she would follow his lead on this. He turned his attention to Bucky, seeing the concern and worry in his eyes – not for the mission, but touchingly for him. They both ran into so many scrapes throughout their lives; stretching, testing, and breaking the threads of their friendship, their relationship, their—.

But after last night, he knew that their deep bond had been reforged; stronger, more resilient, and more full of love that he scarcely believed was possible.

Yet, faced with this nightmare of a reality and even with the 'rules' laid down, Steve had a feeling that they were going to run into his possessed counterpart no matter what happened. It was a bridge that they would both cross, but he was determined to keep Bucky out of that fight, if at all possible. Bucky still needed to mentally heal, still needed to rest, and pulling him into Barnes's reality would just exacerbate the wounds.

Steve returned his attention on Barnes, finding courage from both Natasha and Bucky standing beside him to look at the man square in the eyes. Barnes was not averting his gaze either, as Steve said, “We agree to your rules.”

“We do as well,” Stevie stated.

“Then good hunting to all of you,” Peggy said, stepping back up to the table, before focusing her attention on Stevie and James. “I hope that the passage of time isn't great between realities, but don't worry about what's happening here, Captains. We can take care of ourselves.”

* * *

The goodbyes had been quickly made, as there was no point in waiting to cross over to the other reality after they had armed themselves. It was mainly his and Steve's counterparts who were the ones saying their farewells. Steve had done so as well, making a quick stop into the isolated medical room that Campbell had sequestrated the gravelly injured Sharon Carter into. The prognosis for her possible recovery was still too early to be determined, but there had been a determined look on Steve's face when he returned to where the rest of them were.

Apart from the odd but friendly punch that Johnson had given him in the shoulder, Bucky really had no one else in this reality to say goodbye to. He didn't know the rest of the SHIELD agents well enough outside of the battles they had fought together in. Neither had Romanov; and in the interim of their brief wait, she had ended up informing him about the minute details of the 'robot apocalypse that never was', which had led to the Sokovia Accords.

It was clear that she was not fond of the fact that most of what they had fought against in both the skerry and in the silo were more mechanical than biological. She was also openly worried about what possibilities could arise even further with the fact that their reality's own Superhero Registration Act/Sokovia Accords. There was nothing that Bucky felt that any of them could do, especially when 193 countries had already ratified it.

Even though the briefing itself had been utilitarian in presentation – the bare basics, some rationale and reasons why certain actions had been taken, it had emotionally been anything but. There were too many close parallels that Bucky could draw between the reality that he, Steve, and Romanov were from, and the one that his true mirrored self was from. It was not just from the Sokovia Accords brief that Romanov had given them. It was based on the past actions taken, implied or otherwise, between Steve and Stark.

The Avengers had saved people, yet they had also made a lot of enemies, and Bucky did not need to read or listen to the news every so often to know that since the fall of SHIELD, people were getting a lot bolder in challenging the status quo in the world. Steve had a lot of enemies – not personal ones, but ones who had been borne out of the Avengers and their actions – and Bucky did not like that at all.

Steve was still a fugitive on the run, and he knew that one day, the law was going to catch up with both of them – even if Wakanda attempted to intervene. The only saving grace they had thus far was that it seemed the technology between their world and this nightmarish world was not yet the same. Yet, he continued to be uneasy, now that Wakanda had decided to adopt a less isolationist policy and try to help the world.

The Red Skull, even if cloned, had used a Cosmic Cube of that other reality to 'merge' with it. Considering that Steve did not know exactly what had happened to their reality's Red Skull other than the Skull being 'transported' or 'melted' somewhere, Bucky wasn't sure if the Tesseract in their reality was truly safe. He did not know the Asgardians, and wanted to trust Steve's word that the cube was in safe hands, but it was a powerful artifact – as implied by his other counterpart – more so than a Cosmic Cube.

Then, there was the matter of what exactly happened to Steve's counterpart in that world, and of what his own counterpart had been forced to endure and watch for over a decade in that world. While a part of him wished that he could turn off the ever constant analytic side – the always calculating and assessing portion of him – the part that ruthlessly quashed all emotional reactions to such things didn't do so. It was as if that part of him, that Winter Soldier part of him, was trying to prove to the rest of himself that being a machine... a tool of destruction... was their only way in life to escape such things.

_...they were of a crutch I used to keep myself sane..._

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Bucky mentally shook his head.

Agony could not even begin to describe what he had seen flit through Steve's face, much less Steve's counterpart on the far side of the table, during that briefing. He had felt the fine piano-wired tension, anger, and fury through him by just laying his metal hand on top of Steve's during the briefing. It was not the boiling white hot anger that he knew that filled his best friend whenever some injustice needed to be rectified, but a cold one that seemed as deep and bottomless as the well that the Winter Soldier lived within him.

Now, there was no sign of the ice-cold chasm, even as the 'goodbyes' were being finished up, and the way to the other reality was being... carved... for a lack of a better word. Curiosity that was reminiscent of their childhood graced Steve's demeanor. The carving to another reality seemed to have also captured the rest of the team's attention as well, forcing Bucky to shove aside his worries and attempt to silence the analytical part of him.

Strangeness aside, Bucky thought that the glowing circle of not-fire but sort of fire was a little odd. Either he was becoming used to the tremendous amount of crazy things that Steve ran into these days, or the analytical part of him had just given up on trying to figure out _how_ exactly Steve got caught up in such things. Either way, it was a slightly welcomed break from his ever-growing concern about Steve's mental health.

“That... looks like the portals that Dr. Strange uses to get from place to place, or reality to reality,” Romanov spoke up from beside him.

“The Sorcerer Supreme?” he heard his other counterpart ask, glancing back as the portal began to look like it was stabilizing, as the sparks from the glowing circle seemed to died down slightly. “I didn't know him that well in my reality, but the mechanism to create this wasn't from him. It's from the guardian of this reality we're crossing as a bridge to get to my reality.”

“And I thought Stark had an ego,” he heard Romanov mutter.

Bucky would have commented, or at least provided some sort of reaction to Romanov's words, but it was the more immediate bafflement that caught his attention. “We have a wizard in our reality?”

“Wizards,” Romanov answered, giving not only him, but Steve's counterpart and his normal mirrored counterpart a humorous grin, with the two having echoed his question. “At least two. Possibly more.”

“Yep,” Steve said, as Bucky felt him slap a hand down on his shoulder, squeezing it ever so slightly. His tone was light, as Bucky heard him continue to say, “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Buck.”

He exchanged a puzzled look with his counterpart and Steve's counterpart, noting that both of them were giving him mild looks. While it had not been his intention to interject any sort of humor, it seemed that the brief exchange was enough to cause the stress of leaving on a possible one-way trip to yet another highly dangerous reality, to lessen a little.

“All right, it's stable.”

None of them had a moment to pause and comment on the sparking circle of fire, as Bucky saw his counterpart step through. Romanov was the second one to go, by virtue of being smaller and just a hair faster than Steve or Steve's counterpart in stepping through. The two followed Romanov, then came his counterpart.

Finally, Bucky stepped through, though he kept his hands tightly on his rifle in the process, flicking the switch to semi-auto just in case. The sniper rifle with the lone bullet was snugly in place on his back, and his single sidearm loaded with a full clip. The circle swirled shut as soon as he stepped through, but he was not really paying too much attention on that matter, as it was the environment that they had stepped into that caught his attention.

A dark, dimly illuminated world of grey, shadows, and light stretched out before them. The ground beneath where they were currently standing felt uneven like sand, but when he looked down, it looked more like a floating dark mist of fog than sand. Stretched out to the horizon were small, undulating hills that looked more like the sand fields near Coney Island than anything else. A spindly tree that was starkly backlit by some light source that didn't seem to be anywhere but right at that tree, made the place a little more unusually eerie.

“You sure that you have the correct five you've asked my boss to allow through?”

They all turned towards the source of the voice. Approaching them was a balding man, dressed impeccably in a dark suit and striped tie. While he looked human and normal, it was the strange mark on the center of his chest – a jagged black mark that was about fifteen centimeters in length, with a small bloom of spidered lines running from it – that didn't look normal. Rather than the cautious, wary feeling he had though, Bucky didn't know why he felt a strange sense of melancholy, staring at this man.

“Coulson?!” Steve exclaimed almost at the same time Steve's counterpart did so as well.

“Phil?” Romanov had questioned at the same time.

“Director?” Bucky heard his normal mirrored counterpart echo on top of everyone else.

“Ah,” the man said, stopping before them, folding his hands together. “So it was you guys who crossed.” There was a knowing look in the man's eyes, but it was only focused on Steve and Romanov. “I was wondering what Mace had been talking about when he said that Wakanda sent him a direct request to **not** send any SHIELD agents to the Siberian Silo. Didn't realize that it was you guys who were using that reality portal to cross with Wakanda's permission... I'm presuming.”

“Director Mace got a report from Wakanda?” Romanov questioned. “But he's dead. Deep sea fishermen off in the North Sea found his body about six months ago.”

“I suppose, but we can talk about this while we're making our way through,” the man stated, before turning his attention to Bucky's true mirrored counterpart. “So these folks are it? The actual five you've—”

“Yes,” Bucky heard him state in a curt tone, cutting off whatever else the suited man was going to say. “How far is the walk?”

“Not long,” the man stated. “The alignments between the realities haven't diverged as much as you feared. Stay close.”

He started off towards a horizon that didn't seem to end, and seeing that they had no other choice but to follow, they did so. “Phil Coulson,” the suited man said, turning around while walking backwards. “Current Director of SHIELD in well, I guess the reality that Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov are from. I think... for now, I guess. But it seems most of you know me. Guess I had a counterpart in the reality the two of you are from.”

That last comment had been directed at his and Steve's counterparts, both of him were giving Coulson rather puzzled look. It was Steve's counterpart who said, “Captain Stephanie Rogers, Air Force Intelligence. He's Captain James Barnes, also with the Air Force Intelligence.”

Coulson made a humming sound that sounded more like approval than anything else, before focusing his attention on him. “And based on the frequency that I seeing, you're Sergeant James Barnes of my reality; the Winter Soldier that Alexander Pierce reactivated, aren't you?”

“I'm not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore,” Bucky stated, gritting his teeth ever so slightly.

“I'm not here to take you in, Sergeant Barnes,” Coulson said still walking backwards while holding his hands up in a placating manner before glancing over towards Steve and Romanov. “I'm not here to arrest the three of you. I can't anyways. No corporeal body.”

“Corporeal body?” Romanov asked, concern lacing her tone. “Phil... are you... are you and the team dead?!”

“No, no,” Bucky saw Coulson shake his head vehemently. “The team's fine...ish. They just got abducted by some weird alien who chronicles everything that happens, shoved into some Inhuman stone monolith that transported them 90 years in the future, and are currently being chased by murderous blue aliens while trying to fulfill some prophecy.”

Again, Bucky was slightly glad that he was not the only one giving Coulson a perplexed look. The current Director of SHIELD sounded a little too flippant about his team being in danger, even when they had been transported 90 years into the future. Even Romanov was wearing a skeptical look, though it was Steve who asked, “And you're... stuck here?”

“A part of me is,” Coulson answered, looking more serious now. “This is where every person who has hosted what the entity commonly calling itself 'Ghost Rider', resides. At least a part of that person... piece of the soul, so to speak.”

“Wait... so we're walking through Purgatory?” Steve questioned, looking a little unsure.

“Ha, no,” Coulson laughed, shaking his head. “It's a little weird to describe this place, but think of it like a bridge of sorts. The device that my boss, or rather Ghost Rider gave to Cap there—” Coulson gestured to Bucky's true mirrored counterpart “—isn't as strong as what Dr. Strange or any other sorcerer with that ability can summon. Most naturally occurring reality crossing objects are usually powerful enough to bypass crossing into this reality. The man-made ones aren't, and crossing here without a guide like me is pretty dangerous. Touch me or any other entity in here that has been host to the big man, and poof! You're dust.”

“Just like the effects from the chain he carries,” Steve's counterpart stated.

“Exactly,” Coulson said, nodding in agreement. “That's why you guys need to stay close, but not too close to me. The others here won't see you as anomalies of the sort and attempt to purge you from this nice and spooky place.”

“So where's your boss anyways, Coulson?” Romanov asked. “He's still wearing Robbie Reyes's face? Or is he running around with your face?”

“He said he had stuff to do,” the spectre-Director answered. “He's not running around with my face. Still wearing Reyes's face. If you asking how he got my face, well, I'm sure you read the AIDA report?”

“Only a portion of it,” Romanov admitted. “Talbot's got some good security on his files and in his office. Looks like he never trusted SHIELD, even before everything.”

“Can't blame him,” Coulson said, shrugging as if it were not a concern. “She had the Darkhold, she was pretty much invincible. The only way to stop her was to trick her into coming after me while I hosted the boss man.”

“So then what's that?” Bucky saw Romanov point to the black, spider-like lines in the center of Coulson's chest. “That looks like the wound Loki gave you with his scepter. Fury said that Project TAHITI was supposed to have healed you completely.”

“It's a magical place.” There was a tightness in the spectre-Director's tone, one that Bucky clearly heard and interpreted as a 'do not keep going down this line of questions'.

While Bucky knew that Romanov was as inquisitive as they came, she knew how to interrogate without giving away anything. The questions she had been asking sounded more raw and personal, as if she had a connection back to Coulson. Considering the suited man's status as Director of SHIELD, Bucky could only surmise that Coulson had been her handler or adviser of sorts while she had been a SHIELD agent. He just couldn't see Coulson as a lover to Romanov – even though he knew next to nothing about Romanov's preferences, outside of the professional context that she had performed as the Soviet's seductive Black Widow.

“Nat,” Steve spoke up. “Leave it be.”

Romanov remained silent, but it seemed that her line of questioning was at an end anyhow, as Coulson spun around, walking properly forward now and saying, “We're almost there. I'll try to drop you guys off somewhere that doesn't have too many jackbooted thugs, but...”

“Thanks, Coulson,” Bucky's true mirrored counterpart stated.

“Wait,” Steve's counterpart spoke up. “If you're from the same reality as Steve, Bucky, and Agent Romanov, can't you just guide them across this bridge reality and back to theirs? Why do they have to exit with the rest of us?”

Bucky heard the man snort a little, but it was not in amusement to her words. “I would,” Coulson stated. “But not only does it require a key to be issued, like Cap—” Coulson pointed to Bucky's other counterpart “—has here, but I also already got caught once breaking the rules of this place.

“The others... well, they're not very keen on me breaking the rules again. Everyone suffers whenever someone does something they're not supposed to here, and I'm not very keen on letting this piece of my... essence... or soul get ripped to pieces before I can even direct people to a non-authorized reality. My escorting you guys is the first in a long line of 'penance' that I have to do to get back in the good books with both the boss man and the others here.”

“And that reminds me, Cap,” the spectre-Director said, turning to face Steve while stopping. “I broke the rules for a good reason. I heard from Barton's wife that you guys are trying to figure out how to help Thor find the rest of the Infinity Stones that aren't on Earth or on Asgard.”

“Yeah. Or as much as we can try. You know where Soul and Power stones are?” Steve questioned, looking gravelly concerned.

Bucky wasn't sure what purpose the Infinity Stones were, other than seemingly cause Steve to be really worried whenever they were mentioned. However, considering the unusual clues left by the other reality's Inhuman seer, Robin, something within his gut instincts told him that if the six stones were ever put together, the results would not bode well.

“No,” Coulson answered. “But I did see a particular person who's been looking for them as well, besides the five trillion treasure hunters of all species and sizes. His name is Thanos, and he's known as the 'Mad Titan'. He also has this gold gauntlet thing on his left hand. It matches the information. He's headed in the direction of some planet called Xandar. Boss man had some business on his ship, and I peeked in. It looked like this Thanos guy was still far away from Xandar, so if you can get that information to Thor once you get back to our reality...”

“Right,” Steve answered, nodding. “Maybe we can get Thor to play chase with this guy. Figure out what he's going to do with the stones, and why he's hell-bent on collecting them. Thank you, Director Coulson.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Romanov said, echoing the same.

“Yeah, no problem,” the man said, raising his hand away from all of them and snapped his fingers. The same fire-and-sparking circle appeared, though it seemed to 'settle' into stability faster than the device that was used to create an entrance into this strange reality.

“Just remember, Natasha, whenever the rest of the team return, they'll have no idea what you're talking about. The authorities may still also still be looking for us, since we technically were on the run as well, so stay away.”

Romanov nodded. Little else was exchanged as one-by-one, with his true counterpart leading the way, they departed the bridge reality and into what Bucky had mentally termed 'the Reborn' reality.

The rooftop that they emerged into was somewhat unfamiliar, but empty. It was also nighttime, with barely a single floodlight in adjacent rooftops, lit up. All around them was the skyline of New York City – Manhattan from the looks of it, or at least what Bucky had seen from the internet and television. The rooftop entrance looked to be condemned though, judging by the slats of wood nailed or drilled into the entryway.

Tiny pieces of trash and a few leaflets of paper blew and floated about with the cool summer breeze. The distant sound of cars honking their horns and screeches of tyres, and the buzz of helicopters were carried across the rooftop by the breeze. The vista and the immediacy of the situation reminded Bucky greatly of the eerie and downtrodden look of the poorer areas of the other reality's Framework's New York City.

“Great. We're in...Hell's Kitchen,” he heard his other counterpart mutter, and glanced over to see the lenses that covered his cowled helmet's eyes flash a little with the HUD giving him information. “Way to drop us in the middle of the hornet's nest, Coulson, but at least it's night.”

Bucky saw him gesture silently and swiftly, using old US Army hand signals that was as familiar to Steve and him – including Romanov who looked to have obviously studied the signals – as it was like breathing air. It seemed that the signals were similar enough to whatever his counterpart's Air Force used, that there was little lag in the mental translation of what the orders were.

They needed SA on what was happening, and thus needed to travel further into the city where there were at least some portion of the population awake at this time of night. The best and quickest way to do so without hopefully tripping alarms was to go to Times Square, and see what was being broadcast on the enormous screens. Breaking and entering some random person's home, dropping by a convenience store, or even walking the streets was not an option – not if they wanted to draw attention.

Less than a second after the signal was sent, the six of them scattered into pairs, with each pair running towards a different direction on the rooftop, but on a path towards the same destination. Bucky leapt as soon as his feet hit the edge of the current one, and landed just as lightly as Steve did on the next one, as their route took them on a south-by-southeast direction.

Steve kept pace with him, keeping close enough that they were almost knocking each other's elbows. It was a warm, strong, protective presence that was born not just from Steve, but from the fact that they trusted each other to have each other's backs. A brief memory of the same kind of run, same kind of pacing, covering, and eyes roaming everywhere landed across his eyes. The rooftops they ran across to get to Times Square turned into the brush and bramble covered ground, while the darkly lit satellite dishes, radio antennae, clotheslines, and even small water towers became the tall trees of the forests they were clearing.

He mentally shook his head clear of the memory, focusing back on the present, back on the strange 'normalcy' he could feel in the air. Whereas the Framework had an abundant amount of fear saturating the air, all he could sense, smell, and even hear in the distance was that the city behaved as a large city usually did. There was a small general undercurrent of fear, but that was either for common theft, looting, burglary, the like – what usually happened in city life.

More than once, they slowed down and paused for a few moments, carefully watching a taxi, a car, or even a pedestrian on a bicycle travel down the street below them before leaping to the next rooftop. They weren't making much noise with their running, but Bucky knew that New Yorkers were generally mistrustful of everyone around – and sometimes above them.

Bucky had been one of those people. He had always made sure that the mob was not going to jump him from an alleyway or even from a fire escape whenever walking alone, with his sisters, with friends, and especially with Steve. He knew that Steve had a more trusting mentality, though that was almost always overridden by his need to jump into the fray in retaliation. Bucky didn't think his own lack of trust in people wasn't really paranoia. But to someone who had never lived in New York, he knew that it could be misconstrued as paranoia.

Eventually, they made it to the rendezvous site, slipping into the shadows of the small water tower and bricked storage shed that it stood next to. The noise of something happening in Times Square, along with the booming loudspeakers of some announcer roiling up the crowd was louder now, even as far away as they were from the central area. Bucky crouched, pushing his rifle back, while taking forward the sniper rifle. He kept his hands to the side of the trigger as he brought it up and peered through the scope.

Shades of green and shadows filled his scope, but in the distance, about five hundred meters northeast from where he and Steve were, was the outline of a sentry lookout. The sentry was walking back and forth along the rooftop. The sentry had not seen them, and seemed to be more occupied in what was going on below than anything else. Across that sentry's perch was another one, and a hundred meters away and slightly closer to them was yet another. All in all, Bucky counted seven sentries dotting the one city-block perimeter around Times Square.

“Flash!” he heard his counterpart suddenly hiss in the darkness. His and Steve's counterparts had arrived.

“Thunder!” Steve answered in a whisper, giving the verification word.

Not even a couple of seconds later, the words were exchanged again as Romanov and his other counterpart arrived as well. Bucky finally drew the sniper scope away from his eye, readjusting his weapons so that the rifle sat against his back again, while the battle rifle was pulled forward. He turned, still crouched, and silently gestured what he had seen to his other counterpart and the others.

His other counterpart's answer was to reach into one of the compartments he carried along his waist belt and pull out something small in his left hand. Bucky silently watched as his other counterpart went to the rooftop edge and threw the tiny object with all of his strength. It must have been a directional microphone of sorts, as he then turned back and indicated with his fingers, the frequency that they needed to tune their earpieces on the coms to, to listen in.

Firing the microphone from the sniper rifle would have given them a greater range, but the report of the rifle would have been heard by the nearest rooftop sentry. Bucky carefully tapped his earpiece until he reached the frequency and began to hear the chatter. Most prominent of the voices was the 'host' of whatever was happening down there—

“... and how can we live with this?!” the host was bellowing into the crowds. “How can someone so unnatural exist? I tell you, man and science may have created monsters, but the fact that the Earth itself created them as well—”

The crowd roared its disapproval, drowning out whatever else the host was going to say. Shouts to kill whomever the host was goading the crowd with rang in Bucky's right ear, its volume almost deafening. Yet, it was the near-silent _snickt_ of boots and gloves being scraped up and over the far side of the rooftop that he heard with his left ear, that caused him to spring into action.

In one fluid, swift movement, Bucky spun up and around, with his rifle up and pointed at the intruder. Said intruder hadn't even fully climbed up to the rooftop, crouching at the edge, when he saw him pause. In the ambient lights of the night, he thought he saw a dark red, almost blood-like in color of a metallic sheen from whatever armor covered the intruder. The others had reacted to his movements with a cascade of weapons and shields being brought up as well.

“Murdock?” he heard his true mirrored counterpart hiss in question, pushing forward as he tapped his ear piece to lower the volume slightly.

The man crouched at the edge of the rooftop merely tilted his head ever so slightly as Bucky saw his other counterpart lower his weapon, before gesturing for the rest of them to do the same. As much as Bucky didn't want to, as he sensed something dangerous in a primal kind of way about this armored man, he did so – though with great reluctance.

“Barnes?” the intruder answered, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Shit, sight for sore eyes. Didn't expect to see you so near your old haunt,” he heard his other counterpart say, stepping forward to help the red armored man up, while waving for the rest of them to stand down from attention. Bucky lowered his rifle, though he couldn't help but narrow his eyes ever so slightly at the man, who had briefly and seemingly pinned his eyes behind the opaque lenses, on him.

“Stark got a ping about an anomaly forming in the area. I was closest to it.”

Turning slightly towards them, Bucky heard his other counterpart continue to say while gesturing to the man, “This is Matt Murdock, also known as Dardevil.”

Murdock didn't answer for a long moment as Bucky saw him tilt his head the other way, carefully watching all of them through the opaque lenses of his cowl. It was also when he noticed two tiny 'horns' protruding out of the side of the man's cowled red helmet, looking similar to traditional pictorial depictions of devil horns. It looked like the man could handle himself in a fight, especially with his alert stance, eskrima batons strapped to the side, seemingly sharp senses, and extremely dangerous vibe that Bucky was getting from him.

“Different heartbeats,” he heard the man murmur, breaking the silence. “A three-edged sword: one side, the other side, and the truth.”

“Know what's going on down there?” his other counterpart asked, seemingly ignoring the strange commentary that seemed to make him slightly uneasy.

“Wilson's been captured. HYDRA's making a giant production of the kangaroo court at Grand Central before sending him to the firing squad. Word has it that the Skull himself might be sitting in the 'jury', but no one's seen him yet. Spillover crowd's at Time's Square.”

“Wilson, as in Sam Wilson?” Steve interrupted.

“Falcon?” Steve's counterpart had questioned at almost the same time.

“I can't, Murdock,” Bucky heard his other counterpart vehemently deny, shaking his head. “I—we can't help you charge in there—”

“The hell we're not—” Steve's counterpart protested.

“Stevie, we agreed to his rules,” his counterpart interrupted, reminding her of the agreement bound in words, shaking his head slightly.

Bucky caught his counterpart's eyes on him for a moment, and didn't blame him for not liking the fact that they _had_ to keep their word. It wasn't that their mutual counterpart would instantly send them back through the bridge, but that they had both sensed the tremendous reluctance that their counterpart had had in wanting to drag more people into an unwinnable war.

Steve and Steve's counterpart... neither of them could ever understand what it was to like to _lose_ faith, lose heart. Neither of them would ever understand just how much the Winter Soldier within the himself and his two counterparts were the actual mirrors of Captain America – not this counterpart equaling a mirror nonsense.

“Rescue team is already on their way. Stark and Jackie,” Murdock answered, silencing whatever else the others were going to say. “I'm on distract and diversion ops.”

“Just you?” his counterpart – James, Bucky finally mentally labeled him – spoke up, his tone skeptical.

“Notoriety helps,” Murdock arrogantly answered, giving all of them a mirthless smirk. “Your call, Barnes,” the man said a moment later, returning his attention to Bucky's other counterpart. “I could use the help though.”

“And they can use the 'not being fucking discovered by the Skull' anonymity,” his other counterpart – Barnes, Bucky labeled him as well – shot back. “But its Wilson. It's Captain America. Where's the rest of that breakaway team of his?”

“Dead,” came the blunt answer.

Silence answered the statement. Even with the little information about the current situation being said out loud between the two, there was enough given in the short exchange for Bucky to understand that Sam Wilson was this reality's Captain America, not this other counterpart of his.

It still didn't explain the uniform configuration, and hardlight shield, but it did explain that there was a possible falling out between Wilson's group and Stark's team that included the two men standing in front of him. As unsurprising as it was, considering that he knew that the Sam Wilson of his reality staunchly supported Steve and every action that Steve had taken.

While Bucky could not call Wilson a friend, he called him an ally – albeit a somewhat irritating ally. Bucky suspected that at times during their escape from Interpol custody and travel to the airport, Wilson had also concluded that annoying him was a fair and fun pastime. While a part of him had wanted to throttle the man into a concrete wall for being so obnoxious, another part of him had found it a good distraction from the storm of fragmented memories that had engulfed him.

He was with Steve on this one: Sam Wilson needed to be rescued – Captain America or not, as he was an ally who had unique combat skills. Against the Red Skull masquerading in this reality's Steve Rogers's body, and combined with the intellect that he knew that his Steve had – and assumed that it was the same strategic and tactical acumen in this reality – this world needed Wilson to be saved.

The silence was broken by the roaring approval of the crowd that simmered up through the corridors of the streets, and within their earpieces. “What was your plan, Murdock?” Barnes asked.

Bucky saw a relieved look appear on the others' expressions, including James, as Murdock outline what he had been about to do, before he went to go investigate the reported anomaly. The only other person to show no sign or reaction to the split-second decision was Romanov. She merely listened with keen interest, eyes flickering back and forth between Murdock and Barnes. It didn't help that she looked exactly like her call sign – crouched on the rooftop with her flame red hair and dark uniform, gleaming eyes seemingly waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

Murdock's plan was simple, but incredibly risky to pull off, even by himself. Barnes's modification to that plan was not much better, but it kept the rest of them out of HYDRA's proverbial radar. For what purpose, Bucky wasn't sure, but considering they knew next to nothing about where the reality device was, along with where Steve's counterpart – Stevie, he acquiesced to mentally labeling her – where Stevie's daughter was, drawing attention to other reality travelers was not wise.

“How about you just show this to everyone, and draw attention to the fact that the Skull is collecting this?” Romanov suddenly spoke up, holding up the Cube that was still safely stored in its housing. “Skull sent a massive amount of force to try to secure this. He wants it badly enough, he's going to have to send whatever he has at Grand Central and here to pry it out of your cold dead hands.”

“Well, I'd rather stay alive for now,” Barnes answered in a dry tone, as Bucky couldn't help the brief twitch of his own lips quirking up in response to the darkly humorous idea. “But yeah, as absolute as the Skull's power is shown to the masses, intel has consistently suggested that he's always been entrenched in paranoia.”

“To another Февра́льская револю́ция, then,” Romanov simply stated, handing over the Cube.

* * *

_Shortly thereafter..._

 

“Breaking news: we bring you live from New York City, where the trial of Sam Wilson, the rebel masquerading as the false Captain America, has been interrupted—”

“—at Times Square. The notorious rebel and terrorist, Daredevil and yet _another_ false Captain America are _standing_ , just **standing** —”

“There are multiple reports that there is a glowing object, a cube-like object of sorts in this Captain America's hand. What is this cube? Surely they're not taking the city hostage? Are they demanding a cease fire in their war against the true Captain America, our esteemed President Steven Rogers? Peace? Amnesty?”

“—one of them is shouting something. We can't hear it and we're going to get closer—”

“This false Captain America is challenging an entity called the Red Skull? Apparently calling this Red Skull out for collecting the cube that he holds in his hands... We're not sure what is going on—”

“Shots have been fired! We're being pushed back! It looks like HAMMER have deployed their people—they're evacuating all civilians, Jane. We'll try to keep the cameras rolling—”

* * *

_A few hours later..._

 

Losing their pursuers had been no easy feat, as this reality's HYDRA forces proved to be as difficult, if not more than what Steve remembered when he and Natasha had been on the run. They didn't have a shopping mall to help them blend in, and people were actively trying to kill them with their shots. Luckily, because of just how densely packed Times Square had been, the ground troops that HYDRA had deployed had to cut through the crowds just to get to them. The enemy forces had also been hampered by the fact that multiple cameras from various news networks had been rolling, and thus could not outright murder civilians without the public turning on them at such an important event.

While Barnes and Murdock had drawn attention to themselves and the Cube, the five of them had stayed in the shadows and managed to hot wire and steal several unattended vehicles. With their ground pursuers temporarily penned in, but not the aerial support, they had then drove directly towards the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey, before it could be locked down.

The response of HYDRA to their escape had been fast though, forcing them to ditch their vehicles just after crossing the Hackensack River. Luck had been on their side though, as a fleet of night truckers had been trundling south bound on the Turnpike, and they had all managed to hitch a ride in the rear of the trucks for a brief moment before getting off.

Then came the sprint to the train yards, and a series of harrowing train-to-train rooftop or boxcar jumps in an effort to confuse their pursuers as to where they were going. The timing had to have been right – they couldn't leave the yards too early or else HYDRA would have known their destination, yet they could not leave too late and allow a lockdown of the yards to happen. As athletic as they were, it was still a tiring journey to their destination, but they had made it without incident, and without anyone following them back into the city.

Yet, walking up from the eerie, decrepit-looking, but empty Canal and Lafayette street entrance to the subway tunnel still made him slightly apprehensive. The 4 and 6 lines still ran, but only down to Spring Street. A sinkhole collapse about 100 feet deep in the tunnels ahead of that stop had all but rendered the rest of the line into the heart of downtown Manhattan moot.

Despite the dangers though, it seemed that a sort of gang – Triad – as he had been harshly corrected, had sprung up and taken over the passage down and around the tunnels. The group was led by a Madame Gao – the same name that Steve remembered hearing about back when the mission to retrieve the Cube had sounded so much simpler. Gao and her people controlled the areas from the Spring Street sinkhole all the way down to just past Canal Street. They also ran a potent heroin distribution operation in and around the area.

The fact that such a thing existed and ran unchecked made Steve sick. Were it not for Bucky forcibly pushing him forward and down the tunnel, Steve felt that he would have gone on a destructive tear to get rid of such a blight – even in a world that the Red Skull controlled. It had been an alliance, or of a mutual non-destructive and tolerance agreement that Gao's people had with Murdock and Barnes, that had allowed the seven of them to use the old subway tunnel without impedance.

Steve still could not believe that both Barnes and Murdock had completely ignored Gao's activities. Neither had even made to stop the drug dealers when a rather large unmarked crate had been trundled out in front of all of them, cracked open, and its contents parceled out to runners.

At the present though, Bucky's hand was no longer squeezing so tightly on his shoulder that it hurt, in order to steer him this way and that. With them being out on the streets again, Steve knew that he had to focus on the mission – that is, to get to safety.

His shield was still on his back as they lightly jogged down Canal, before Murdock turned onto Bayard. No one withdrew or unsafed their weapons though. All around them were the darkened monoliths of old buildings, enveloped by the smell of garbage that seemed to linger in the air, even with the summer breeze blowing by. The hiss of a cat down an alleyway, and the occasional pop of an air conditioning unit rang in the relative silence, as they continued to lightly run.

The fear in the air tasted different, and was unlike the fear that saturated the Framework's version of New York City. This tasted... normal, or as normal as Steve could remember. He usually didn't travel down to this part of the city, at least whenever he had not been busy with his duties as an Avenger. His home in modern times had been in Brooklyn, and that was where he had spent most of his free time.

At the end of Bayard, they crossed Bowery surprisingly without incident, as there had been the occasional person on the sidewalks surrounding the 44-story building in front of them. He knew the building as Confucius Plaza, having used it as a marker once before during his runs in and around the five boroughs. The few out and about this late at night paid them no heed, and it didn't look as if Murdock or Barnes considered them a threat either.

Continuing down Bowery, they instead, turned into a iron-fenced playground, and what looked like a sign for a school. The majority of the letters in the name of the school, except for the word 'school' were not on the wall, but there was no one in the playground. The door into the school was unlocked though, and he was not the only one to become a little wary. Still, Murdock and Barnes did not react and walked in as if it were an everyday activity.

The halls of the school were empty, but seemingly decorated with paraphernalia that looked recent. Steve's unease grew, as their footsteps echoed in the halls. He caught Stevie's glance over towards him, with her shaking her in puzzlement head as well, as her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. James was looking suspiciously around, a prominent frown gracing his lips. However, neither Natasha or Bucky seemed to react to their surroundings – keeping the same kind of stance and air of alertness around them, as Murdock and Barnes.

The seven of them stopped before an elevator. It was only when he saw Barnes place a palm on the buttons panel that the first sign of something unusual was finally seen. A blue scanner, similar to what had been displayed when Natasha had used her phone to scan the keypad code to get into the lower levels of the old SHIELD bunker, popped up. It panned over the man's armor-covered palm before disappearing. The elevator opened, and he stepped in. Murdock gestured for them to follow Barnes into the elevator, before putting his own metallic gloved hand against the panel before stepping in.

Scanned and secured – at least that's what Steve assumed – the elevator doors closed. It was cramped in the elevator, but the descent down underground was anything but slow. It took all but a few seconds before the elevator halted, eerily reminding him of the Framework once again.

“Deja vu,” he heard his counterpart murmur.

“Agreed,” he answered in kind.

He was glad that he wasn't the only one drawing so many parallels between this world and what they had both experienced in the Framework. There was just enough of an atmosphere of uncanny to just have a tiny, niggling doubt lodge within his thoughts. Framework or not, this nightmare of a reality was becoming more Alice-in-Wonderland than anything else – as if it were a shade, variation, or even a cracked mirror of what they remembered.

It was obvious that beneath the school was an underground base of sorts – 'safety' as Barnes had indicated that they needed to get to. Steve tried to push aside the revolting feeling he had about such a place hiding out among a seemingly active school of all things, as the elevator dinged open. They stepped out one-by-one, but instead of a group or even a handful of people that Steve expected to be a part of whatever literal underground resistance movement against the Skull, there was only one person standing before them in the 'foyer' of the place.

She was blonde-haired, about the same height as Natasha, and dressed in a yellow form-fitting uniform that had the same metallic sheen as Barnes and Murdock's uniforms. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she had a metal, upswept and V-shaped red mask across her eyes.

“What the hell, Barnes?!” she spat out. “It's been ten fucking months! What the fuck were you doing in that reality?!”

“Jackie—” Murdock began, sounding as if he was trying to defuse the sudden escalation of tensions, when it looked like Barnes wasn't even going to answer her.

“Where's everyone else?” he heard Barnes quietly interrupt.

“They're fucking dead, you asshole! Every single one of them is dead, while you went AWOL. The Skull has six Cubes, and you fucking think you can waltz right into here—”

“Jackie, leave it,” Tony's voice floated down the 'hall' that was made up of tall office partitions.

The entire underground 'base' looked to be one whole floor, with sections separated by partitions, and several small portable work lights clipped to the partitions. Rather than footsteps though, Steve heard the slight squeaking noise of a sort, before this reality's Tony Stark appeared around the bend.

To his surprise and instant remorse and sympathy, Tony was not walking towards them, looking like he usually did. Instead he was sitting in a wheelchair, and was pushing himself towards them. His legs though, were gone from the knee on down. Silver discs, similar to what he remembered seeing on Bucky's left shoulder where his prosthetic arm met flesh, capped where Tony's legs ended. Somehow, somewhere, this reality's Tony Stark had lost his legs, and though Steve couldn't help but feel sad, he still saw the spark of fire in Tony's eyes.

“Here's your Cube, Stark,” Barnes said, as Steve saw Natasha hand the vibranium covered cube over to Barnes again, having taken it back as soon as the HYDRA pursuit had begun.

It was rather careless for Barnes to toss the Cube to Tony in the manner that he had done, but it was also obvious that Barnes was angry. At what, Steve could only guess, as he remembered seeing both Bucky and James hold themselves in the same stance, attitude, and bitingly short words as Barnes had displayed.

In the silence as Tony caught the Cube, fumbling slightly with it, Barnes had retracted his uniform back into the dog tags. “Did Wilson make it?” Steve heard him ask after a moment.

“No,” came the equally quiet answer from Tony. “Dr. Cho just called me with the news. Sam was already dead before being lined up in front of the firing squad. Stab wound into the side and covered by his uniform. She said she'll burn his body as soon as possible, and take his remains to Arlington when she can.”

“Shit,” the yellow-suited woman answered, gritting her teeth.

Steve closed his eyes for a brief moment, resisting the urge to punch something as he felt his hands curl into fists. He wanted to yell out his frustration as well, but that wouldn't do anything either. This was not his world, and not entirely his fight. Yet, he could not help but feel the deep-seated anger at the Red Skull of this reality slowly fill him again. Opening his eyes again, he took both a mental and physical deep breath to try to force some control over his need to lash out. It had been a very long time since he had done such a thing.

The last time he had almost lost control of himself had been when Dr. Erskine had been killed. His initial thoughts and actions in charging out of that SSR laboratory were to get revenge, but when he had seen Peggy fearlessly shooting the car charging at her, all thoughts of revenge had died. It had been buried even further as he pursued the HYDRA agent, and ended up with him showing some mercy to the agent, when he knew damn well that the agent did not deserve to live.

Now... now with the news that Sam had been a dead man walking, Steve felt the well of cold anger attempt to consume him again. He didn't care that their attempt to draw a diversion to let the others rescue Sam had been done in vain. It was clear that there was little to no more resistance to HYDRA's rule left. As sick as he felt in the fact that these four people – two of them he knew so well reflected in the different facets of another reality – were using a school of all things as a shield and shelter, he could only imagine what had driven them to do so.  He could feel that well of anger within him growing.

The Tony Stark he knew would have never done such a thing. Tony, even as arrogant and flippant towards some things while caring for others as he was, was a good man trying to do good for the world. Had his and Tony's friendship not been torn apart, he was certain that Bucky and Tony would have at least gotten along – somewhat grudgingly, he had to admit to himself. But he knew that Bucky certainly wouldn't have supported taking shelter under a school either—

“You shouldn't have taken Gao's offer, Stark. You shouldn't have _used_ her people as a shield,” Bucky's counterpart of this reality stated, drawing Steve out of his troubling thoughts.

The _clink_ of Barnes detaching the thin chain and dog tags from around his neck drew Steve's attention away from the exchange. That was short-lived though, as he saw Barnes toss the dog tags at Tony, saying, “Shuri, Melinda, Franklin, Hunter, Bobby, and Grant's deaths – that's on me. Wilson's death – that's on you. Only you, Stark. I hope you're fucking happy that you killed yet another Captain America.”

“Where—shit kid, you aren't even going to explain _this_?” Tony yelled after Barnes while gesticulating a bit wildly at the five of them, while Barnes continued to walk away from all of them.

Steve could only stare at the two, mouth partially agape. He wanted to go after Barnes, stop him and demand what the hell was going on, and what those words meant, but didn't. Not only had he seen James raise his arm ever so slightly to stop Stevie from doing the same, Bucky had also lightly tugged on the sleeve of his uniform. Both of them were saying to leave the matter be, and Steve realized that this was the first time that he had ever seen the two _agree_ on something.

“It's it obvious, Stark?” Murdock stated, drawing Steve's attention back to the forefront. He saw him cross his arms over his chest before flicking a thumb in their general direction. “Barnes didn't bring them back to help. He only brought them here for one purpose: they're here for the Skull's reality device.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flash/thunder verification words were depicted in Band of Brothers to verify that whomever the scattered soldiers of Easy Company ran into during the drop on Normandy, they were an ally.
> 
> Also, apart from some different key events (Red Skull not transferring into a robot body because Sharon didn't shoot his host, Lukin; Red Skull not being a megalomaniac 24/7 when he took over Steve's body during Reborn; 'Steve' saving Bucky during the events of Fear Itself instead of Bucky 'dying' at the hands of Skadi/Syn), the things that happened as Reborn-Earth!Bucky describes, generally follows the Brubaker comics arc of Captain America.
> 
> Finally, Daredevil's backstory is based loosely on the Netflix portrayal of said character, as I personally have barely begun to read through most of the Daredevil comics (Hawkeye has my attention at the moment). He's not a prominent character in the story though. That being said, I am aware of the Daredevil/Black Widow history, so there will be some elements of that in future chapters.


	15. Memory: отъезд

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**отъезд** _

_Year:_ _1943, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Late Night, no additional fragments_

_Location: New York City, no additional fragments_

 

The girls were fine.

Both were pretty, great kissers, intelligent, and good company for light topical conversation and dancing. They even had fun at the Stark Expo, 'oooh'ing and 'aaah'ing at the marvels that were to come in the future. At the end of the date though, one of them had been quite bold in asking him to bed after her friend had gone up to her room.

Bucky had said no to the request.

He had seen the girl's eyes widen in slight surprise before confusion and then disappointment had settled it in. He knew that he could have easily taken her to a decent hotel room – he had the money on him to do so. He also could have been daring and slept with her in her room within the all-women's boarding house that she and her friend lived in. He knew that she would have liked that – the challenge of just trying to keep as quiet as possible among the heated rush of their bodies pressed together—

At least that's what Bucky thought she would have liked. He really didn't know, and that was only a drop in the ocean of his reason why he had said no to the girl's request. Any other man in his shoes would not have denied the request, but he wasn't about to get into a mental debate within himself – at least not at this hour.

The girls were fine.

Bucky just did not have an attractive interest in either of them.

As his shoes carried him to the familiar cobble stone and wood entrance road into the Shipyards, he paused and looked up. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he let his arms hang loosely at his side as he saw that more than a few lights were on in the buildings of the yards. It looked like more than a few members of the 107th and other units whom were going to be shipped out first thing in the morning, were not asleep yet. Bucky couldn't even imagine any of them getting a wink of sleep anyways – they were all excited to finally fight.

The ships that were going to carry them across the Atlantic loomed in the darkness, their spires of stacks and the helm seemingly stretching to the stars. If his eyes lingered long enough, adjusting to the relative darkness of the area, he thought he could begin to pick out the bow from the stern of the ship, and where the horizon of the black ocean met the sky.

Bucky lightly laughed to himself. His thoughts were becoming more poetry-like since he had begun training. In the single batch of letters that he had written to his sisters, mother, and even to Steve, he knew that some of those poetic, descriptive words had ended up in there. Not that his spoken vocabulary had gotten any better – it had definitely become more coarse. He just didn't know why he felt the need to put 'flowery', as he remembered Becca telling him about Canterbury Tales, words in his letters.

Out of the single packet of letters he had received back, only Becca had pointed out his 'flowery' language. Even then, it had been a mild acknowledgment of his expanded vocabulary laced in the usual sarcasm he knew that she wielded like a sword. The others from his mother and other sisters were asking after his health and giving him news about themselves and the neighbors he knew. Steve's letter had not even contained words, only a drawing – a portrait of Bucky's family, minus the Barnes patriarch.

Steve had not drawn himself into that portrait.

While it was more convenient to carry a photograph, those had been confiscated during the first few days of training during a surprise inspection. Most of the photographs that the MPs had taken on the order of their commander were of the naughty kind. The personal ones had been given back to the soldiers at the end of training. Bucky managed to keep the drawing that Steve had sent throughout most of the training. It had been because he had been forced to use the back of the paper to draw maps and positions, so that he could successfully lead his platoon to their objectives.

“Hey, son, you need a lift back to the Shipyards?”

He blinked, looking down from the sky he hadn't realized that he had been staring at. An officer in a police car had crawled up next to him, with said officer leaning slightly out of the window. As Bucky quickly looked around, he realized that in his musing, his feet had carried him elsewhere.

“No, thank you, sir,” he said, tipping his uniform's hat – cover – slightly at the officer. “I'm home. Just wanted to take in the night sky before I turned in. Don't know when I'm going to see any of this again.”

“All right, son,” the officer answered, nodding. Before Bucky could move though, the officer shifted and stuck a hand out. Bucky approached and grasped the offered hand, shaking it briefly as the officer said, “You're doing your country a great honor, son. The name's Patrick. Patrick Sousa. Just avoid the intersection near the baker's shop at the bridge, yeah? Buncha hooligans out and about there that I just got rid of an hour ago – but they'll probably be back.”

“James Barnes,” Bucky said, “and thanks for the tip.”

“No problem and thank you, Sergeant Barnes, for your service,” Sousa stated, adjusting himself back within his car. A few moments later, with a salute that was more of a wave than a salute, Officer Sousa and his car left.

Left alone again, Bucky turned slightly towards the stairwell that zigzagged up the building he was standing in front of. He was indeed home, but it was not where his mother lived. It was the apartment where he had shared with Steve until the day he had left for Army training.

It was _home_.

Quietly climbing up the stairs, he was careful not to make a sound as he ascended to the third floor of the seven floor building. Walking along the walkway and to the familiar-looking door, the curtains across the windows were drawn. However, they were still thin enough that he could see that almost all the lights were off... except for a weakly flickering lamp that was most likely situated on the dining table.

Bucky would have raised his hand to knock on the door, but he knew that at this time of night, Steve was most likely asleep, and had probably used the dining table as a place to rest his head. It was an all-too often common occurrence that Bucky had either walked into, or woken up to: Steve sleeping out in the dining room that doubled as his work/art table, having been working on some illustration or cartoon.

Instead, he turned slightly around and nudged the third potted plant – all of them in various states of neglect – that lined the edge of the walkway. The spare key was still there, and he picked it up. He had given Steve the keys to the apartment back, not knowing when he would be done with training, or if he would be immediately shipped out. A part of him had hoped that Steve would not try to maintain the rent and bills alone, as the expense of living even here was still a lot to maintain, especially with the income that Steve usually brought in.

The other part of him felt oddly relieved that Steve had not taken up another roommate after he had left, as Bucky quietly entered the apartment. Closing the door behind him with barely a sound, he took off his cover and placed it on the stove top for the moment. His prediction about Steve using the table as a place to sleep was correct – right down to the terrible posture that Steve had, as his best friend was slumped against the table top, snoring ever so gently and obliviously away.

Bucky wanted to take all of the scene in front of him in, to _remember_ this moment, as he had a hunch that once he set foot on the ship that would bear him across the Atlantic, he would never see this moment ever again. While he knew that that was mostly a conjured fear from apprehension mixed with giddiness to finally do something to help their allies, he still couldn't help but give into it a little.

He wanted to wake Steve up, to spend the rest of his night talking and catching up with him before he had to leave, but everything that he had wanted to say was lodged in his throat. If he couldn't have gotten it out during their parting at the Stark Expo, then there was no way in hell he would be able to spit it out now.

Therefore, Bucky did the one thing he knew that he could do without waking Steve up, without tripping over his own words, and to settle his mind and heart one last time. He quietly crossed the room and entered the bedroom. Strangely, even with the dim light that the flickering desk lamp cast into the room, he saw a trunk open and most of Steve's clothes, possessions, and books stored in there.

The mantel clock built by Steve's father was not in the trunk, as he had clearly seen it in its usual place in the main room. Both bunk beds were bare as well, with the sheets and blankets folded carefully and stored within the trunk. Was Steve moving somewhere?

It would make sense for Steve to move, as the apartment was not quite within the monetary means of Steve maintaining it alone. Bucky just didn't know where Steve was moving to, and felt a small bout of sadness that Steve didn't bother to tell him the new address. That moment passed though; he would just have send his letters to Steve via his mother or Becca, and hope that either would be able to find and pass those letters on.

Picking up the top most blanket lying in the trunk, he shook it out and went back out. Going around the table, the edges of his lips quirked up in a bitterly fond smile as he saw what drawing Steve had been working on before he had fallen asleep. Beneath Steve's right hand that was still holding the graphite pencil as Steve slept, was a drawing of him, Bucky, stretched out and sleeping in their bunk bed.

He remembered that morning, remembered how evasive and shy Steve had been about showing him the sketch, and remembered that Steve could not fully meet his eyes. He had wondered what had gotten into Steve to behave like that. Then, he had then noticed the slight flushing of Steve's skin, especially when he had told Steve that he liked the sketch. It was the truth – Steve was an incredible artist when he sketched people.

But that slight flushing of Steve's skin could have meant anything, and Bucky had not wanted to press his luck. There had been too many things that he hadn't known, never confirmed, and had not wanted to assume. He had not wanted to continue to back his best friend into a corner, when it had been clear that Steve had been embarrassed about something. What that 'something' was, was still a mystery, but he was glad that Steve was working on the drawing again.

Lifting the blanket, he gently and carefully draped it over Steve's shoulders. Even sleeping as awkwardly as he did at the moment, Steve didn't stir. Bucky continued to hear him breathe evenly and deeply, most likely lost in some wonderful dream that he was sure that his best friend usually had. Steve had too much of a good heart and soul to not get bad dreams – not like him.

A sudden impulse struck him. Either coupled by the fact that his gut was still telling him to remember this moment, or the fact that a sudden fear of not being able to come _home_ from the war swept through him, Bucky decided that it had to be done. He knew that he would regret it if he didn't.

Bringing the tips of his right index and middle fingers pressed together to touch his lips, he then brought the same two fingers down. Pressing the tips of them ever so gently on the left edge of Steve's lips, as Steve was sleeping with his head turned to left, Bucky then withdrew his hand.

“Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, Steve,” he whispered, straightening up and turning the desk lamp light off.

Steve still did not stir, and continued to peacefully sleep.

Silently walking back to the entrance, Bucky retrieved his cover and placed it on his head. He didn't look back as he opened the door and walked out. Closing the door as quietly as he did the first time, he locked it and placed the key back its usual space before departing.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**отъезд** _

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sketch that Bucky sees is the same sketch that Steve remembered and dreamed about during **Winter's Ghost** , in the latter half of Chapter 2.


	16. многочисленный (Many, re: One)

**Chapter 8: многочисленный (Many, re: One)**

_Reality: Reborn Earth_

 

“I gotta say, the beard really helps. So does your long hair.”

The gesture was made first at Steve, then at Stevie, but rather surprisingly, Tony did not linger on their appearances. Instead, Steve saw him unfold his hands and tap a few things on the table. The entire room was still brightly lit, but there was still a distinctive hum hanging in the air. Even with the bars that surrounded the area, creating a Faraday cage of sorts, the hum that persisted was almost borderline irritating.

“Still feels like my teeth are sort of being cleaned,” Steve heard James mutter.

“Sorry,” Tony stated, sounding not apologetic at all as he continued to poke and peck at whatever was on his side of the table that doubled as a screen, “periodic scan of the system, needed to acknowledge it.”

Tony then looked back up, saying, “We'll keep this short. You wouldn't be here, were it not for Mr. Murdock here. He's pretty much our version of a lie detector, and since he hasn't broken any of your bones, I'm going to trust that none of you are HYDRA agents from another reality.”

“That's what the heartbeat commentary was for, Murdock?” Natasha spoke up, giving the man known as Daredevil who still had not shed his armor yet, a pointed look. Murdock's response was to only give a mirthless smile to Natasha's question.

“Why are you using a school as shelter, Tony?”

It had been Stevie who asked that question in a quiet tone before Steve could even say it. Steve saw that she had her hands folded in front of her, looking concerned yet apprehensive. He didn't blame her for looking unsure as to what to do, as he felt similar feelings in response to what they were facing at the moment. Neither of them knew this Tony Stark, even if some of the man's behavior seemed the same as their own reality's versions. There was also still some hostility within Tony's tone whenever addressing either of them. Yet, Steve could see that Tony was trying to not proverbially 'bite their heads' off whenever looking or talking to them. He knew that Stevie saw it as well.

“Don't get into my business, and I won't get into either of yours,” Tony answered, the hostility in his tone rising slightly as he pointed at both Steve and Stevie. “Both of you have out-of-regs military haircuts and appearances. I'm not going to ask why, so don't ask me why about my business here.”

“Well, it's not like you can tell us to fuck off, or we can do the same to you, Stark,” Natasha surprisingly spoke up, her tone bitingly acidic. “So since we're all stuck here for now, let's just talk about that device that's wrecking havoc across multiple realities. Where is it, and what's the plan to get it back?”

“Well, I don't know if Barnes told you, but the Skull needs seven Comic Cubes to fully power his device. We have one, he has the other six, and after that distraction at Times Square, he's going to know that Barnes has the seventh one. He should be leaving all other realities alone for now, including whatever ones all of you guys are from,” Tony said, seemingly taking absolutely no offense at Natasha's stinging words.

“My theory was, was that his initial device could open only one portal at a time,” Tony continued after a moment. “With the power from the Cubes, even as it were only at six, he could open multiple portals to one reality.”

“We've experienced it,” Steve stated, keeping his tone as neutral as possible as he tented his gloved hands together for a moment. “Twenty of them opened at once. We know that Skull's been scanning for the Cubes, and that some sort of emissions signature, power, or signal needs to be sent for the device to lock onto the reality. At least that's the theory. Do you know if the device can open more than twenty portals?”

“No,” Tony answered shaking his head. Steve could clearly hear the hostility in the man's tone slowly dying away, the more they discussed the Cubes and the device.

“I don't know enough about it. All I know is that it was created and built out of a cobbled mess that von Doom had, and merged it with tech that Reed Richards had been working on before he died. I don't know where it's located, but—” Tony held up a finger to preemptively silence them before they could say a word “—I'm waiting to get that data. Hoping that it gets to me in the next day or so – especially since everyone's seen what happened in Times Square.”

“Wait, Tony, when... _who_ did you manage to infiltrate into HYDRA?” the woman with blonde hair and yellow armored suit asked. She had briefly introduced herself as Jacqueline Falsworth-Crichton before they had sat down in this Faraday caged briefing room. While there was no hostility in her tone when she had addressed them, Steve had seen the pain of loss in her eyes.

Her red mask had been retracted, melting back into the rest of her armor in a similar manner to what he had seen Barnes's Captain America uniform's cowled helmet do at times. Steve, though, was surprised that she had asked the question. It was clear that Tony was the leader of the team, and that Barnes had either co-leadership or an affiliation with Tony's team.

Yet, keeping key information from the team? This was definitely different from the Tony he knew, and Steve couldn't help but feel slightly unsure as to whether or not he really needed to reevaluate his perceptions about Tony.

Steve knew that Tony – even the AI Tony in the other reality's Framework – usually thought out loud, sometimes needing an audience to bounce all of his ideas back and forth about a plan of action. Most of the time, Steve indulged him when there was time to 'spitball' ideas, as Tony loved to call it. What he and Tony usually discussed had been plans with tactical plans, unexpected surprises within the strategic plans that Steve laid out for different situations, that sort of thing. It was one of the few times in which Steve got along with, and loved to work with Tony.

During combat situations though, Tony usually deferred to him, unless there was something that required his expertise in tech. That was when Tony usually rambled a mile a minute, with the rest of them barely keeping up with his thoughts that seemed to branch out everywhere. Most of the time, Natasha had then 'translated' the rambling into more coherent thoughts, and then Steve would parse it out to the rest of the team.

Tony sounded exactly like Fury at the moment, especially with— “Compartmentalization,” he murmured.

Steve realized that that sort of information was kept from the others, so that no one had the full plan. It was only revealed at the moment because they needed to know that that information was coming – hopefully soon – that they were not going to linger here in this reality any longer than they had do. As hostile as Tony was, it seemed that he was aware that this reality was not doing any of them any mental favors, as their own presences were doing to him. At least that's what Steve was presuming, and hoping, that this Tony still had a good heart like the counterpart he knew.

“Your reality must have had a SHIELD Director Nicholas Fury,” Tony stated, as Steve blinked and realized that his utterance of the single word had caused the briefing to be paused for a moment. “Only he would say something like that.”

A year, perhaps even as much as nine months ago, Steve would have answered affirmative, but at the moment, he kept silent. He gave no indication that Fury had been Director of SHIELD in his reality. It was not that he didn't trust Tony at the moment, but that he knew that such information did not need to be confirmed or denied. It was, as Tony had done, compartmentalization – a need to know information that Tony and the others in this reality did not need to know about his reality.

He needed to not just make sure that he, along with Bucky and Natasha got back to their reality safe and sound, he also now needed to guard against threats not from their reality. Seeing Stevie and James's reality being invaded for a single piece of technology put the picture in a bigger perspective. Wakanda already had an inkling about the gravity and enormity of protecting against other-reality threats, but they couldn't possibly know just how easy it was for someone like the Red Skull and his infernal device to just open a portal and take what he wanted.

This was far, far different than a 0-8-4 anomaly; this was a threat that even Steve didn't know if he or his reality could defend against.

“The information is coming,” Tony stated again. “I suggest you all get some rest. I need to see if I can possibly figure out how or what is powering this Cube and try to dismantle it without blowing it up.”

“If the Skull has ways to scan for the Cube in another reality, what's to say that he doesn't know that we're already here?” Natasha asked before Tony could properly end the briefing.

“That thing,” Tony said, as Steve saw him gesture to the Cube sitting innocently in the center of the table, still wrapped up in the vibranium shell, “is covered in vibranium that's laced with Uru. I was told a while ago by the Dwarven weaponsmiths that Uru is strong enough to suppress even the Tesseract – a similar type of powered cube-like weapon. It's a type of ore that the Asgardians – aliens that were our allies long ago – used to forge their weapons.”

Tony then gestured all around them, continuing to say, “This Faraday cage was specifically built with the same kind of metal, so that thing will be staying in here while I'm running the analyses. As conspicuous as you all were in an enormous group, you weren't intercepted by any HYDRA goons, so I'm going to say its working.”

Steve saw him then turn slightly towards the blonde-haired woman, asking, “Jackie, if you would please, show them where they'll be sleeping and all of that.” Without waiting for an answer, Tony then nodded towards Murdock, saying, “Murdock, I need a word with you.”

Steve couldn't help but frown, as it was as clear of a dismissal as they were all going to get, as Tony then tapped a few things on the table, and the irritating hum immediately disappeared. Falsworth-Crichton had already gotten up, and seeing that they had no other choice, especially with the clear indication that Tony was not going to linger in idle chit-chat with them, the five of them got up.

~~~

Bucky could clearly see that _both_ Steve and Stevie were heavily conflicted.

It was not just the two's lingering anger towards what Gao and her people distributed, and the fact that Stark took shelter below a school of all things, but also with Stark. He knew that Stevie had been _married_ to Stark, loved Stark, and seemingly 'chosen' Stark over James. It had been unstated, but even then, when he had been a mess under the control of ten simple words in that reality, he had still been able to read between the proverbial lines.

Dissimilar yet not, Bucky also understood that Steve had found a strangely grounded friendship with Stark, in a chaotic world he had woken up in. To Bucky, that friendship had seemed wildly unstable, but he knew that he was biased against Stark. And then Steve had thrown that friendship away – for him, Bucky.

Stark was a constant in the two's lives, no matter what happened, and it seemed Stark had been a constant here as well – given the commentary about Steve and Stevie's appearances. All of his own presumptions about Stark aside, including what had happened at the Berlin Airport and at the silo, the behavior that Stark ultimately displayed in that briefing was a little strange. It was almost cagey or skittish – as if Stark didn't fully trust Murdock's words that they were truly here to wrench that reality device from the Red Skull.

Which made Stark's commentary about Murdock being the team's 'lie detector' even stranger. It was clear that the man known as Daredevil had some super-human hearing, which had somewhat clarified the strange three different heartbeats comment. Hearing the heartbeats of a person was a good way to ensure truth from falsities. Yet, there were too many variables that Bucky didn't know to formulate any concrete theories as to Stark's reluctance.

“Why did Stark become Director of SHIELD?”

The woman who led them down the hall made up of partitions didn't even pause in her steps as Bucky was not the only one to glance over towards his counterpart, who had asked that question out loud. Both Steve and Stevie had slightly puzzled expressions on their faces, while Romanov initially had a similar expression before seemingly considering the idea and then nodded in agreement. He didn't know Stark well enough in his reality, but he could only presume that his counterpart had discerned something during that briefing to make that assumption.

That and the fact that Falsworth-Crichton did not deny the assumption made. She instead, said, “It was the government's so-called reward for him in the aftermath of the Superhero Registration Act. He held onto the position until the Red Skull was resurrected and took over that position.”

The woman didn't say anything else as they turned the corner, coming back to the main 'foyer'. Bucky caught a glimpse of his other counterpart within the elevator, dressed in civilian clothing – black leather jacket, gloves to hide the silver of his metal arm, and blue jeans. The clothing looked ordinary, almost typical of what Bucky had seen others wearing while hiding out in Bucharest, and his counterpart even more ordinary.

Barnes's head was bent down, as if the man was studying the elevator's floor with intense interest and didn't want to be bothered. The door slid close without any of them calling out after the man, and they continued on.

The layout of the entire 'base' was simple enough, with living quarters on the east side, relative to the elevators, and what could pass as labs on the west. Everything was separated by a maze of tall office partitions though, which meant that ambient noise floated up and around. There was little to no privacy if one wanted to have personal conversations that wouldn't be picked up by anyone else... except for perhaps in the central to the area where that Faraday caged room was. Stark most likely had heard James's comment about being the head of SHIELD.

Falsworth-Crichton stopped at the end of the corridor they were walking along and gestured to the entrance way, saying, “We don't have much room for personal quarters. It's not much, but it should suffice for now. Bathrooms are single occupant only for each gender, but there's a shower within each. We'll see about getting all of you some more appropriate civilian clothing. We also don't have much in the way of a mess hall, so all of us usually find some food up in Chinatown or Little Italy. Water to drink is from tap, mugs are near the general purpose sink on the far side from here, but don't use the green mugs – those have been used in Tony's experiments.”

“We'll manage,” Steve said, extending out a hand to shake, as Stevie followed his actions, and Falsworth-Crichton reciprocated the action. “Thanks.”

The woman didn't linger, and left with a simple 'good night' to them. Bucky entered the 'room' first, his instincts to clear out the area of enemies rising ever so slightly. He didn't know why such an instinct bubbled up, as he fought to tamp it back down. No physical threat jumped out at them, with only the phantom threat of having some drill sergeant coming to inspect the ten cots that lined this 'room'. Folded neatly in squares was military-issued woolen blankets and a pillow, with each set lying at the end of each cot. Furthermore, there seemed to be a stack of various service branches' PT clothing sitting on a long table adjacent to the room.

“Why don't you Rogers-two go for the showers first?” Natasha suggested, but it certainly didn't sound like a suggestion as Bucky turned around to see her with her hands on her hips, head tilted ever so slightly. “The Barnes-boys and I have a lot of weapons to strip off and clean.”

It was logical, and no one could really argue that, given that Steve and Stevie had both carried only a pistol, clips for said pistol, and their shields. Romanov had armed herself almost as much as he did, blithely citing that she was not going to caught out against robots again. He himself had his rifle, clips for the rifle, his sniper rifle with the single bullet, his Glock 17, clips for the pistol, five combat knives sheathed in various places, and had added a dagger into his boot. James had loaded out with a shotgun, two pistols, and the three remaining knives left after Romanov had taken seven of them, sheathing them in various areas upon her uniform.

Neither Steve nor Steve's counterpart put up an argument, as Bucky briefly saw them both unhook their shields from the hook on their backs. The action was mirrored and twin-like, but he didn't linger long in watching them. He wasn't particularly picky about what cot he wanted to sleep in, but he needed to get his weapons off of himself first before he could take off the outer layer of his uniform.

Clearing the long table of the stacks of clothing onto a cot after both Steve and Stevie picked their way through a part of those stacks to find something to fit their tall frames, Bucky began to strip himself out of his armaments. In the middle of it, Steve and Stevie both stepped out, headed towards the bathrooms, and that was also when Bucky noticed that both of them had taken up the furthest cots at either end of the room.

“It's going to be a bad night, isn't it?”

Bucky blinked in slight surprise, as it had not been Romanov who had subvocalized those words, but his counterpart. Apart from all the Red Room agents being trained to utilize such an ability to talk without being overheard, it was an extremely difficult skill to acquire, much less perfect to clarity.

“Yes,” Romanov simply answered in the same manner. “Without a doubt.”

“Shit,” was all James stated.

It took Bucky a moment to realize that the two were referring to Steve's nightmares, the original underlying reason why his counterpart had called him in to help. He wanted to say that his presence was not going to ease Steve's nightmares, as he was sure he would also be drowning in his own – that is if he got any sleep himself. Yet, as much as he wanted to prove his counterpart's reasons wrong, he also didn't want that to happen.

As much of an unstable mess as he still was, he needed to keep himself together for Steve's sake. He could not let Steve worry over him, not when his best friend looked to be falling apart himself with this entire reality crossing chaos. To be there for and with Steve, as he had promised both himself, and affirmed it last night. That night though... it felt like a life time ago, when compared to what they had all walked into today.

“We'll cross that bridge when it comes,” he stated, finally removing the final weapon on him – his sniper rifle. Setting it down on the table, he grabbed one of the pairs of socks and unfurled it. There was no gun oil or other cleaning materials around, but they could at least clean the firearms as best as they could with socks.

“No clips?” Romanov asked him, still subvocalizing in the conversation the three of them seemed to be having.

“Sixteen in four,” he stated, as took up Steve's pistol, ejected the clip and single bullet that remained in the firing chamber, and placed both down. “All fired.”

“Except for the bullet that you fired at him in 1984, right?”

He gave his counterpart a sharp look, but didn't immediately answer his question. Even when he felt Romanov's inquisitive eyes on him, he still didn't answer. It was as Steve had said: every person had their own perception on things. But he knew that the two people in front of him – and maybe perhaps Barnes himself as well – saw things as differently as he saw it. They were not looking for a simple answer as others would have, and would not have accepted a simple label, deflection, or otherwise.

“It's been modified,” he carefully stated, even though he knew that yesterday, he had not known that the Red Skull of this reality possessed this reality's Steve Rogers. His original acceptance of that bullet that he had fired at Steve in 1984 were for more intimately personal reasons that he was not going to justify to the others. They did not need to know his original intentions for it.

“Tony still thinks this reality's Steve Rogers exists somewhere in the Red Skull,” Romanov stated. “You heard what your counterpart said what happened the last time a Cosmic Cube came into play – it broke through his conditioning. It's the only reason why he'd want a Cube intact, rather than just destroy it. Your counterpart thinks so as well—”

“No,” both he and his counterpart stated at the same time.

“No?” Romanov questioned, giving both of them a questioning look.

Bucky was slightly puzzled as to why James thought the same as he did, but given that the man had spent more time analyzing and reading their mutual counterpart, he would have heard more of the story behind this realty's James Barnes. Bucky only came by his assessment strictly on the man's actions in the silo: from his reaction to Sharon Carter's confirmation that the Red Skull had stepped into that reality, and how he had fought. Even as different as their methods of analysis were, they had both come to the same conclusion – and he knew that at least a part of it was because the three of them shared one common path in life:

The Winter Soldier path.

“It's difficult to explain, Romanov—” James began.

“No, it's not,” he countered, cutting him off, giving him a slightly disdainful look.

When it concerned Steve, even Bucky had seen just how much Romanov kept from Steve, and how much she protected yet also supported Steve. It never relented, even when he, Bucky, was there. Romanov's actions towards Steve reminded him in a way of an odd mix between the sisterly care and love that Becca had for Steve when they had all been growing up, and the protectiveness of Peggy.

Instead of verbally answering her though, Bucky made the appropriate Red Room gestures, and saw her lips thin in anger. It was the reaction he was looking for, as it told him that she now understood the reason why his and James's mutual counterpart did not think Steve Rogers was alive anymore. To this reality's James Buchanan Barnes, Steve Rogers had died when he had been assassinated on those steps up the courthouse.

Worse yet, Bucky thought that his counterpart may have blamed Tony Stark for the action, and had most likely gone after Stark, before something had caused him to stop his revenge. Whatever that had been, whatever it was, it had ended up with his counterpart becoming Captain America, and affiliated in some way with SHIELD. It looked as if that affiliation was still being held up – but only by a thread.

“Do we tell Tony?” Romanov asked after a few moments.

“I think Stark already knows,” James answered. “I think that might be the reason why he sent Private Barnes to retrieve a Cube, to give him some hope that Steve Rogers could possibly be saved.”

“Do you think he can be saved?”

Bucky glanced over again at his counterpart, before returning his attention to Romanov. “I don't know,” both he and his counterpart stated at the same time.

* * *

Natasha had to be somewhat thankful that it was always a groan that alerted her to the fact that Steve was slipping into his nightmares, and that it woke her up. Nevertheless, even as she snapped her eyes open, the quiet rustling noise of movement from her left told her that Bucky was taking action. Either he had even more sensitive hearing than she did, or he was readily attuned to Steve in a way that she knew that she never could achieve. She had to put her money on the latter – as she suspected that Steve's nightmares were not a recent occurrence, and had most likely began during the war.

Even then, she still sat up, seeing the shadowed form of Bucky get up from where he had been lying on his cot and take the two steps to cover the distance to Steve's cot. She saw him crouch, reaching out with his right hand – his flesh hand – and place it on Steve's forehead. Even with that action though, Steve did not settle, not like the last time she had seen someone named Barnes perform a similar gesture.

She knew that the cot would definitely not be able to handle the weight of two people lying on it, much less two super-soldiers. Thus, she got up and silently padded over, catching Bucky's attention as she stood at the foot of Steve's cot, watching Steve shift and groan again. Steve's expression was not contorted into pain, but there was something in his dreams that were causing him to be anxious.

The former Winter Soldier's expectant and silent 'What?' expression at her was to be expected. Equally silently, she nodded towards the cot that he had been sleeping on. Natasha saw him glance over at it, before looking back even further, staring beyond the cot.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha saw that – James, she acquiesced to the nag in her mind – was awake. The intelligence officer was sitting up though, and had not moved from where he was. It was dark, but she could still see his concerned look in his eyes. She glanced back towards Bucky, only to find that he had a cool look in his eyes, and had moved his flesh hand from Steve's forehead and onto his right shoulder.

It was obvious to a bystander such as her that there was a sort of silent disagreement of sorts going on between the two Barnes-boys. She was not going to get involved in whatever that disagreement was though, as she mentally rolled her eyes and quickly dragged Bucky's cot over to him. Thankfully, that action broke eye contact between the two, as Bucky threw her a questioning look before moving out of the way.

Natasha pushed the cot all the way until there was not even a centimeter of space between the edge of Steve's cot and Bucky's cot. Bucky gingerly sat down on his cot cross-legged, but Natasha was already busy with something else to pay attention to him. She maneuvered her own cot so that it was lying perpendicular to where Steve's head was. It was only because she caught the Red Room signal that Bucky silently made, with the corner of her eyes, that she paused in her return to her new cot.

[ _When?_ ] he had signaled with his metal hand.

She didn't need to glance back towards James to understand that Bucky was asking when was the last time something similar had happened. It would be simple to assume that the former Winter Soldier was becoming more human every day and had developed some jealous feelings, but that was such a pittance of an assessment that she was embarrassed to even think about it. It would have also been simple to state that the 'when' was back in 1984, as that was the only time that Bucky had not been at Steve's side, and that James had been there.

[ _Steve settled the last time. A few seconds._ ] she signaled back, though in substitution for Steve, she had signaled 'the asset'. Red Room signals had no names.

[ _This is not normal._ ]

She saw him glance down at Steve after he had signaled that, and she had to agree with the assessment. Steve was not settling at all, even though his groans were not getting any louder than than the one that had woken her up. She didn't get to assess any further as a similar sounding groan issued up from the far side of the partitioned room.

Natasha's eyes immediately riveted onto the sleeping form of Steve's counterpart. Even James had been startled by the noise, as she saw him immediately reach out towards Stevie Rogers. Like Steve though, from where Natasha was standing, it didn't look as if either Rogers were settling into quiet or peace. She caught Bucky's glance over at her, and silently shook her head – none of this was normal at all.

The only saving grace was that neither Steve nor Steve's counterpart seemed to be sliding further into their nightmares or dreams. There was nothing that the three of them could do, as it could have been a number of factors: most prominent was that the Red Skull held the face of Steve Rogers, and that Caroline Rogers had been taken by him. Natasha also wanted to blame the Cube, but that Cube had been in that reality for a while, and thus it couldn't have been the direct cause of whatever dreams were gripping the Rogers-two.

[ _We sleep, while we can._ ] she signaled to Bucky. [ _Investigate in the morning, if the assets remember any of it._ ]

[ _Concur._ ]

* * *

Steve snapped his eyes open, gasping for breath as he sat up, seemingly reaching for the last vestiges of the gold gauntlet with its rainbow colored glowing jewels, that faded before his eyes. Grey partitioned walls slowly replaced the gauntlet, and a softly bright ambient light overhead that resembled the morning sun, filled the rest of his vision. He rapidly blinked, feeling the fight or flight response in him begin to die down. A gentle touch of a cool metal hand was also resting on his neck and right shoulder.

“Steve! It's all right! It was only a dream.”

As Steve became ever more aware of his surroundings and felt the end of his bed dip ever so slightly, he realized that it had been Natasha who had said that. He continued to blink away his disorientation, and saw her sitting at the end of his cot, having paused in reaching forward towards him. He glanced over to see Bucky sitting cross-legged on his own cot, on his right, which had been pulled so close to his own that there was no gap between the two. His best friend's eyes carried a lot of worry in them, and his metal hand on his shoulder was what Steve had felt a moment ago.

“It didn't feel like a dream,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, as looked down at his hands, opening and closing them for a brief moment. “It felt like... ” he continued to say, but found that he couldn't even begin to describe what he had seen.

After what he had seen, he needed to make sure that he was awake, that he was still _here_ , and not watching—

At the moment, he didn't care, and he hoped that Bucky would allow him this one action. He reached up with his left hand and curled it around Bucky's metal hand on his shoulder. He didn't really tug down, but it was more that he just wanted to hold that metal hand in his hands. He needed to _feel_ that Bucky's metal hand was real, physical, and _here_.

Thankfully, Bucky allowed him to perform that action, curling and weaving their fingers together, but still Steve did not look up. He just stared at their hands, clasped together as the tried to drive away the nightmarish vision that wasn't his usual nightmares.

 _This_ was real. This was here. Bucky's metal hand curled around his right hand was real. He was here—

“Steve...” Natasha said, her voice seemingly distant yet close and full of concern.

“Steve, what did you... dream?”

It was Bucky's voice that brought him out of his fugue as he blinked again and finally looked up. “I... I don't know,” he said, wanting and hoping that by telling them, he would be able to make sense of what he had _seen_ , not dreamed – that he could allay his own fears as well.

“I...saw something,” he hesitatingly began. “A gold gauntlet... with the six Infinity Stones embedded in them. They were glowing, but there was a heavy storm of dust surrounding you, Nat... and me. Bruce was also there, and Thor as well... and there were a few others I didn't recognize.”

He let go of Bucky's hand, bringing of his own hands up, as he stared at them and then beyond to Natasha, saying, “All I kept hearing was this snapping sound near the gauntlet. That I was pulling down with all of my strength on the gauntlet to stop it from making that noise... and it wasn't working—”

“Steve, it was only a dream,” Natasha insisted, placing both of her hands on his palms and lowering them until they were pressed against the bed. She let go after a moment, sitting back and shaking her head slightly. “We need to just pass on Phil's information to Thor. That's it. It was only a dream.”

Steve took a deep breath but did not protest or deny his disbelief any further. It would be difficult for him to convince Natasha otherwise of what he had seen. He glanced over to see Bucky still worriedly looking at him. He silently nodded once; their long-established silent way of communicating whether or not either of them was 'okay' whenever in the battlefield.

“All right,” he said out loud. He certainly didn't feel 'okay', but he knew that he needed to keep himself together, to just push away and try to bury the vision, dream, whatever it had been. He could not have Natasha or Bucky worrying over him, not when they had bigger things to worry about.

“Steve?” Natasha questioned, clearly not buying his affirmation.

Before he could again, reaffirm without forcing himself to try to casually dismiss the dream-vision, a sudden gasp of “No!” coming from the other side of the partitioned sleeping area interrupted him.

Steve sharply looked over, his actions mirroring that of his friends, as he saw Stevie bolt up from where she had been sleeping. At nearly the same time, he saw James, already woken up – most likely from his sudden wakefulness – lean to the side to catch Stevie to keep her from tumbling out of her cot.

“Shit, that cannot be a coincidence,” Natasha murmured, as Steve felt his cot shift slightly again as she got up.

“What is?” he asked, focusing his attention on her as she gingerly made her way over to Stevie and James.

“Nightmarish vision?” Natasha simply asked, stopping a few feet from the two.

Steve saw Stevie blinking rapidly, eyebrows furrowed as she sat up hunched over on her cot, rubbing her temples with her hands. James had a hand on Stevie's back, but there was the same worried look on his face that Steve had seen reflected on Bucky's face.

“Yeah...I think,” Stevie answered, unsure, lifting her head up and putting her hands down as Steve caught her eyes on him. “Everyone that I knew... was dead... and I was fighting an older Caroline. She was wearing the strangest outfit: a blue-green, black, and silver uniform with an eight-pointed silver star in the center of her chest.”

“Almost everyone was dead in mine as well...” Steve began, feeling uneasy.

Natasha's choice and muttered words in Russian were barely heard by them, but Steve was already flipping the blanket off of himself as he scrambled up to follow her sudden departure from the room. Footsteps behind him told him that the others were following him. He knew where she was going, and they didn't have to walk far to run into Tony.

“Stark! What the hell is that Cube?!” Natasha demanded as Steve stopped short of physically pulling Natasha away by an arm to prevent her from bodily manhandling Tony.

Tony had been making his way to the elevator, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit, and carrying a briefcase with him. What was even more surprising was the fact that Tony was _walking_. Natasha had stopped a few inches short of actually grabbing Tony by the lapels of his suit, but instead, was glaring daggers at him, though her expression melted into pure confusion for a moment.

“You're...” she began, before back pedaling a step.

“Walking?” Tony finished, sounding more than a little annoyed, but also had a strangely expectant look. “Yeah. Prosthesis. Just got them finished up this morning, and need to take them out for a test drive. The fuckers destroyed my right prosthetic leg, and damaged the left yesterday while we were trying to rescue Wilson.”

“We're sorry,” Steve said at almost the same time Stevie stated the same thing as well. He felt bad for Tony—

“For what?” Tony asked, frowning slightly. “You guys didn't do this. But—” Tony gestured towards them “—I'm going to swallow my pride for the moment and apologize to all of you. I'm sorry I was a shitty host yesterday. You caught me at a really bad time.”

Before Steve, or even his counterpart could answer, Tony continued, saying, “Now that that's done, I'm betting you've all had some really strange dreams last night, right?”

“More like a nightmare that seemed to be a vision of the future of some sort,” Stevie stated, looking quite unhappy.

Steve wanted to say that it had been only limited to both him and his counterpart, but he hesitated in stating that. He didn't know if it was a fact, as he knew that he had woken up and kept his friends up before with his more 'normal' nightmares. “You cracked that Cube yet, Tony?” he asked instead.

“Cracked...ha,” Tony barked in bitter laughter. “Good one.”

Steve frowned, unsure as to what exactly Tony was sarcastically joking about. He didn't get any clarification as Tony continued to say, “Not yet. Analysis is still running, but I have a few theories as to what exactly powers it. The fact that you guys had strange dreams is making at least two of my theories stronger.”

Tony quickly checked the watch on his wrist, saying, “Look, I have to go. Jackie and Murdock are topside, doing some recon on Staten Island and the Bronx. They could use the help in covering Queens and Brooklyn, if you don't want to stay down here all day. There's some civilian clothes that was scrounged up, along with some temp IDs, contact info, and credit chip on the phones for all of you. Stick the phone at the elevator button and the scanner will pick it up. It will have to be refreshed every fifteen hours, so make sure you're back before it expires. They're all in the room next to the Faraday cage.”

“You guys just leave this place alone?” Natasha questioned.

“No,” Tony stated. “I'm just right up stairs, and now I'm going to be late.”

“Tony, you're always late. Meetings, business lunches, everything. Those kids upstairs—” Stevie began.

“They're not children upstairs,” Tony interrupted her, shaking his head slightly. “They act like children when things don't go their way, but trust me... they're not. Those finger painting stuff on the walls... yeah, I had them do that because they pissed me off one day.”

None of them got to say another word as Tony abruptly turned and entered the elevator. The doors closed and whisked him up the stairs, leaving Steve and the others quite bewildered. “Then what is going on upstairs?” Steve couldn't help but ask out loud, somewhat glad for a distraction however strange it was, to divert his mind from the nightmarish dream.

“Drug lord? Teaching Gao's people how to run a successful drug ring?” Natasha commented almost absently.

“It wouldn't be so far different from how a legitimate company is run,” Stevie surprisingly spoke up, with a contemplative look on her face. “Supply and demand assessments, sales, distribution chain, pricing, protecting the business...”

“If that crate was any indicate as to just how far, wide, and controlled Madam Gao has in her operation, then yeah. Gao would need both a legitimate front and a lot of business know-hows in order to not be shut down by whatever is the law here,” Natasha agreed.

“Um,” Steve began, glad he was not the only one to give the two women a perplexed look. Both Bucky and James had mirrored expressions of disbelief on their faces – as if they too, could not believe what exactly was being discussed.

“Fury assigned Coulson and I to evaluate Stark for the Avengers Initiative, Steve,” Natasha said, as there was a silent agreement between the five of them to go see what exactly had been prepared for them in the room next to the Faraday cage. “Part of that cover was an assessment to see how well he worked with others in his company, and it required being knowledgeable about how businesses are run. Coulson didn't have the patience to deal with that, so I filled in. Trust me, when I say that corporate espionage was the least of the things that Stark had to worry about, Steve,”

“Yep,” Stevie surprisingly agreed. “I was supposed to take over oversight of that division in my Tony's company, but you are right Agent Romanov. Corporate espionage was the least of my Tony's worries. I think the 'teaching' a drug lord or helping her run her business is what's going on up there.”

“So not getting involved in that,” Natasha muttered.

“But making them finger paint, because Stark got pissed off?” Bucky questioned, still carrying a disbelieving look on his face.

“Stranger things have happened,” came the seemingly knowing statement from Stevie, effectively shutting down the conversation.

They reached the room, and as the others entered, Steve paused for a moment and took a look inside the Faraday caged room. The Cosmic Cube was sitting in the middle of the table, still covered in its vibranium shell. There were several leads and cables attached to the shell and onto ports that had been hidden under the surface of table yesterday. Multiple hardlight projected screens surrounded the Cube, with lines of code scrolling up on them.

On the far side of the table was another projected screen, this time of several news articles from the internet. An algorithm of a sort was running next to each displayed article, highlighting words or pictures from the article. As much as Steve tried to make sense of it, he knew that his grasp of modern day technology, even in his reality, was not up to par yet. Between waking up and learning just _how_ to use modern day technology, researching and reading what had happened in the seventy years or so he had been on ice, there wasn't enough time.

He could easily grasp the basics, but he also knew that most of his teammates and friends considered him tech-illiterate. It was an assumption he embraced, though he made sure that he wasn't _that_ illiterate. Glancing over as he heard footsteps behind him, he saw Natasha emerge from the adjacent room with a phone in her hand. A few seconds later, his counterpart emerged with a bundle of clothes and an identical looking phone in her hands, making her way to the bathroom to change. James followed her as well.

“Clothing options are limited, but at least none of you will be sticking out like sore thumbs,” Natasha murmured to him, as he saw her approach the terminal next to the door that led into the Faraday cage room.

“Nat... what are you doing?” he asked, watching her carefully hold up the phone's camera to the panel and slowly wave it around.

Bucky's emergence from the adjacent room caused him to glance back to see that he was curious as to what Natasha was doing as well. However, she breezily said, “Go on ahead without me, boys. I think I'm going to have some fun trying to find the skeletons in this closet.”

Steve silently shook his head at Bucky, before indicating with a flick of his eyes that he was going to try to convince Natasha to _not_ attempt to hack or crack into Tony's Faraday cage room. A single nod was all that he received back from Bucky before his friend left.

Out of all of them, Steve knew that Natasha's sense of curiosity that was also mixed with paranoia was the most honed. Hiding things from her – physical and informational – was no small feat, as she knew how to pick through and ask the right questions to make someone reveal their secrets.

He had witnessed that early on, after the Chitauri invasion had been stopped. Before he had agreed to liaise with SHIELD, Steve had asked Fury for the dossiers of Clint and Natasha, wanting to know more about their skill sets, as he had a feeling that he would be working with the two closely. The dossier for Natasha had come with the extracted footage from the Helicarrier as to just how she had gotten Loki to reveal that Banner was the linchpin in the Asgardian's plans.

“Steve, it's all right,” Natasha said after a few minutes of him just watching her and her phone's screen scrolling with lines of code. “Go on up. Get some sun and New York summer heat with Barnes. You look pale enough as it is, and Barnes even more. Have some fun in Coney Island, like you told me the two of you used to do. Share an ice cream, or something.”

“We're supposed to be doing recon, Nat,” he stated, shaking his head slightly in exasperation at her flippant attitude. He knew that she only pulled it out and used it on him whenever she wanted to shoo him away from whatever she was in the midst of doing. “Tony's not going to like—”

“And why do you care about Tony's opinion, Steve?” she cut in, glancing up at him with an unusually solemn look in her eyes. “He doesn't know what happened in our reality, and frankly I don't think he cares or wants to know. He already has enough on his plate here. He knows that you're not this reality's Steve Rogers, Steve, but he's not going to be your friend.”

“I know that,” he stated, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just don't want to... overstep his hospitality. You hacking into this room—”

“Is expected, Steve,” she said, lifting the phone away from the panel and shaking it slightly. “These modules inside, they're similar to what I had on my phone while in SHIELD. Stark expects us to hack into stuff while we're doing recon. He's gotta know that it'll be turned on this place itself.”

“Nat, what are you trying to find?” he asked, sighing.

“I don't know yet,” she admitted, returning the phone to its previous position. “But I don't like the fact that that Cube might've given both you and your counterpart those... visions.”

He considered her for a long moment, before nosily breathing out while shaking his head. “All right,” he said at last. “Anything you find out about that Cube, you let us know. If HYDRA finds this place before we get back, you definitely let us know.”

It wasn't that he didn't trust Tony's claim about the Faraday caged laced with alien metal blocking the power of the Cosmic Cube, it was that after all that he had been through, this was the least secure base that he had ever been in. He generally trusted all of the inhabitants of the underground base to not breathe a word, but he just could not place his trust in the drug cartel that lived upstairs and seemed to control Chinatown.

He felt that too many people had seen them walk in the subway tunnels to get to here. He just hoped that his sense of unease was unfounded, but he knew that that was more naivete than anything else. He wanted to trust Tony's judgment, but he knew that he needed to make sure that he and the others were not going to be caught out like they had several times before while fighting HYDRA.

“And Sam called me paranoid,” she said, the edges of her lips quirking up in a smile, though she nodded in agreement. In a more lighthearted tone, she said, “Pick me up some of that shwarma thing, will you, Steve?”

Steve couldn't help but grin, his worried feelings lessening slightly as he said, “Sure thing, Nat.”

~~~

The phone's payment system worked, though Bucky was still a little apprehensive about using such a device. It was now sitting in the pocket of the jeans he wore, which felt a little odd to him. He was used to wearing looser and less stiff pants than this pair, but he supposed that the fabric would loosen and stretch slightly during the day – especially if he was walking a lot.

As he flipped through the Chinese-English dual-printed newspaper he had brought from the vendor just across the street from the 'school', movement from the side entrance of the school caught his attention. He glanced up for a moment to see Steve emerge, with his blue baseball cap pulled as close to his eyes as possible. The fake pair of glasses perched on Steve's nose was preventing it from going any further down his head.

Surprisingly though, there was not an uncomfortable or nervous look on Steve's face. Bucky continued to read the paper in his hands, but he kept an eye on Steve as he saw him quickly look around, taking in his surroundings with that single look. There was a nonchalant look about Steve as he saw him set off, giving absolutely no indication that Steve had spotted him. Yet, the path that Steve took to cross Bowery and make his way down the street towards him, indicated otherwise.

It was clear to Bucky that Steve had taken lessons on blending, surveying, and threat assessment from Romanov. Those actions Steve had just performed showed clear hallmarks of what a Black Widow traditionally did in an unfamiliar environment.

“Romanov's not coming?” he asked as Steve stopped next to him for a moment, even though it was obvious that Romanov was not going to show up.

“Nope,” Steve answered. “Didn't know you could read Chinese as well.”

“Can't,” he answered, folding up the paper and showed Steve the headline on the English side.

He started walking down the street as Steve took the paper from him and began to walk as well, keeping up with him on his left. It was fairly empty for the morning, as rush hour had just ended. Street and corner grocery markets were already set up and selling their wares, and there were quite a number of people out and about. Still, there was no one seemingly paying attention to either of them, as they walked up Bowery.

“I told our counterparts to search for any clues as to the whereabouts of Caroline,” he said, as Steve finished reading the paper and returned it to him. He tossed it into the nearest pile of recycling that he could find – at least he hoped that it was a pile of recycling – while continuing to say, “So we have both Brooklyn and Queens to cover.”

“Thank you for doing that, Bucky,” Steve said. “If I were in Stevie's shoes, I'd think I would have gone spare by now.”

He remained silent at that, knowing that even though Caroline was not Steve's child, there was an air of protectiveness that Steve seemed to cast around the girl. The silence between them didn't remain long as Bucky could feel Steve's inquisitive gaze on him. He glanced over and saw him tilt his head ever so slightly towards his left arm that looked flesh and blood, instead of the burnished blue-silver color it was supposed to be.

“Stark specifically labeled two options – leather jacket, or this device he had that could 'skin' the metal arm,” he explained, lifting his left hand up and flexing it ever so slightly. “There's no way in hell I'm wearing a leather jacket in this weather.”

“If you want, I can ask Tony to let you keep the device. Ask him to let you bring it back with you when we get back to our reality,” Steve suggested.

Bucky knew that Steve meant well, interceding on his behalf between him and Stark. After whatever that was that happened when they had arrived and his counterpart seemingly 'quit', it would have made perfect sense that the alliance between his counterpart and Stark was ended. It made sense that he – even another reality of himself – would have pissed off another Stark...again.

Yet, he didn't think the alliance between Stark and Barnes was done. He had caught a glimpse of his counterpart returning topside in civilian clothes, but there had been no discernible weapons on him. Stark had also not mentioned sending anyone out to look for Barnes, and considering that both Murdock and Falsworth-Crichton were doing recon, it made sense that the alliance had not ended – at least not entirely.

“Thanks, but I don't want it,” he stated, shaking his head slightly. “It kinda looks weird to me. I'm not used to it looking like a flesh and blood arm anymore.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to stay to Steve, as he caught him frowning at him for a moment before turning his head away. Were he not who he was today, Bucky knew that he would have apologized and would have tried to rectify and understand why Steve felt the way he felt. Even with their reaffirmation of their promise and restrengthening of their bonds, things were different now. They had vastly different perspectives on their lives, even through he still gladly and gratefully followed Steve's lead.

There was no going back to who they had been.

“Steve...” he began, wanting to make sure that everything was still somewhat 'okay' between them.

“No,” Steve answered, nodding his head ever so slightly. “I get it. You don't have to explain it. I get it.” He saw him rub his forehead with his right hand for a moment before dropping his hand. Either the action was deliberate or not, Steve's fingers brushed ever so slightly against his left hand, dancing across like small jolts of electricity.

“I'm just...” Steve continued, but paused as he shook his head. It looked as if he was trying to dislodge something, mental or physical, but it wasn't working. “Goddamn dream... nightmare... let's just go. Okay? Get to the F-line and get to Brooklyn first, all right?”

“All right,” he agreed.

Though Bucky kept it from showing on his face, he couldn't help but grow even more worried about Steve. He was now Steve's north star, even though Steve had always been his. If it weren't him still stumbling around, trying to not continue to upend Steve's life; it was this reality and all of its crap that was slowly causing his best friend to lose himself to an ever growing chasm of darkness.

Bucky was determined to find a way to make sure that that chasm could grow no further.

* * *

_A few hours later..._

 

“It will take you at least a week to use whatever Stark's put on the phones to crack that panel, Natasha.”

Natasha glanced over as she heard the clicking noise of a cane and footsteps halt. She could not help but smile slightly to see that far be it that the civilian outfit that Murdock was wearing was not the typical summer clothes that most people normally wore. Murdock was wearing a dark suit jacket, white collared dress shirt, pants that matched the suit jacket color, polished shoes, and a dark red tie. Even stranger was the fact that there were glasses perched on his nose, with the lenses almost as dark as the tie.

“You're blind,” she stated as she realized what exactly those glasses and the tapping cane he held, represented.

To any other person, her words would have been slightly insulting, if not patronizing, but Murdock seemed to shrug it off saying, “Occupational hazard.”

“Funeral in the Bronx?” she asked, as she refocused her attention back on the lines scrolling up her phone.

“Clients,” came the answer.

“Lawyer?” she guessed, as she glanced over at him again, surprised.

He gave her a humorless smile before saying, “Of a sort. Not really practicing anymore these days, but just giving some advice to my former clients about what they should expect in the hearings.” She saw him lift up his left hand that contained a bag with a wonderful smell emanating from it. “Want me to let you in so we can eat in the room?”

“Curious, or you just want to get Stark riled up about grease stains on the table?” she couldn't help but ask, as she got a sense from Murdock that there were times when he did not see eye to proverbial eye with Stark. She knew little about him, but what she had seen yesterday and now, reminded her of some similar aspects of this reality's Barnes's personality. That and she suspected that the two most likely sometimes drove Stark up the wall with their little acts of rebellion against Stark's authority.

“Both,” the man answered, grinning.

“All right,” she said, deciding to humor him and stepped back, taking the phone with her.

He handed the bag to her, seemingly knowing where exactly she was, even with his blindness, and she took the bag. He stepped up to the panel and held a hand over it for a few seconds. Natasha watched, fascinated by his actions as he tilted his head ever so slightly before tapping out a few things on the screen. Due to the angle in which she was standing, and the closeness of where he was to the panel, she couldn't see what he was tapping out.

The gate-like door unlatched and Murdock pulled it open, entering, and Natasha followed, closing the caged gate behind her. They both avoided sitting near where the Cube's leads were input into the table, but took a seat at the other end of the table. Natasha opened the bag and passed out the food towards Murdock, pointing out where she had set the utensils and the to-go box in front of him.

“You know, most people would have assumed that I was lying about my blindness after seeing me in action,” Murdock stated after they had taken a few minutes to eat in silence. “Thanks for not doing that.”

“Most people don't like to advertise that they have a disability. I just assumed that you had excellent hearing or enhanced your other senses to figure out where exactly we were yesterday,” she answered. “Hence the heartbeat comment as well.”

“Your reality has a Clint Barton, doesn't it?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. “You remind me of this reality's Natasha. She had said similar words about Barton here before.”

“And I don't know if you exist in mine,” she said, putting down her food and bringing the hardlight projection of Tony's search algorithm towards her. “There were rumors that the 'Devil of Hell's Kitchen' took down some kingpin named Wilson Fisk in my reality, but I never researched it, since nothing ever got triggered on SHIELD's radar. Could be a counterpart of you, or could also just be some random person running around, being a vigilante.”

She pushed the projection to the side again, seeing nothing interesting about the keywords or pictures that Stark had wrote the algorithm to detect for. She did not want to disturb the search patterns, even though she was sure that Murdock would eventually inform Tony – if Tony did not already know via some silent alert – that she had been in here. Looking down, she tried to find some indication to bring up another hardlight projection of a terminal, but the table looked as is – plain and semitransparent.

“Left corner top seam right where your hand was,” Murdock stated. “Press it.”

“All right,” she said, the edges of her lips quirking up in a smile, as she did as he suggested. A hardlight terminal popped up, and she couldn't help but say, “You read minds as well as hear heartbeats?”

“No, but I know what you want to do,” Murdock answered, his tone almost borderline arrogant, but not condescending, as she flicked her eyes up from the screen to see a smirk on his face. “Whatever Barnes may have told you about our reality, you want to confirm it. You also want to see if there's any additional information to help your friends – or at least your reality's Rogers and Barnes. Can't really tell if you're friends with the other set of Rogers and Barnes. Rogers, the female one, doesn't seem to like you very much. She seems to only tolerate you because of shared circumstances.”

“My counterpart in her reality was a HYDRA agent, and killed her husband. But that's another story for another time, and mine not to tell. However, my counterpart here worked... no, she had a relationship with you before, didn't she?” she asked, hearing the nuances in his tone.

“It was a long time ago,” he answered, the smirk on his face dying to that of a more neutral look. “And as you said, another story for another time.”

She nodded in agreement, deciding not to push for that story, not wanting to complicate or get further tangled in potential cross-reality relationships. Returning her attention to the terminal, she typed in a few things that she had picked up from watching Johnson in the other reality do when hacking into systems, and from her own days in poking through systems that Fury wanted broken into. What she found was sparse, but it was verifying Barnes's story about this reality.

“Stark seems to have a few theories about what this Cube does, or how it's powered,” she spoke up after a few minutes of silence, tilting her head slightly towards the Cosmic Cube. “You have any of your own?”

“Some, but it's been a while since one of those has caused as much chaos as six, or now seven of them all together. Based on what I heard last night, I think this one might be feeding on heavy emotions,” Murdock said, frowning slightly.

“Like the one that Alexander Lukin had after he took it from the Red Skull? The one that fed on fear?” she asked.

“I wasn't involved in that, but I did get the same story about it from Fury, before he died,” Murdock said. “Fear is powerful, and I think this one might be feeding on that, and also there's also happiness, pleasure, anger, resentment – points that either make or break someone's day. There's not a lot of fear going around, as I'm sure you've noticed, but a lot of potent rage against... well, people like us.”

“What Steve... what the Rogers-two saw in their dreams this morning was I think... death. A lot of death,” she quietly stated. “It seemed to be a vision of the future, yet I don't think it was.”

It was only because Steve mentioned that he saw Bruce in his nightmarish vision that she discounted that the dream was an actual vision of the future. Neither she nor Steve knew what happened to Bruce, or whether or not he was alive or dead since taking off in the quinjet.

She glanced at the inert cube with its analysis still running. “If it is feeding off of powerful emotions, I think we need to leave. I think with what the five of us have been through in our realities, we just might accidentally give it enough power.”

~~~

_At the same time, in Brooklyn..._

 

“These kids, they're all so young,” Bucky couldn't help but comment as he dragged his eyes away from the crowds that walked or milled about in the MetroTech Commons just across from NYU's School of Engineering. Though it was summer, it seemed that there were still classes going on. The professors were easily identifiable by their more formal clothing, the students by the casual dressage, but one thing was clear to him: they all looked fresh-faced, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed.

However 'innocent' the 'kids' looked, many of their conversations and opinions were anything but.

“I had the same reaction after I woke up and walked around here,” he heard Steve comment somewhat absently, as he glanced over to see him flipping the page in his recently purchased small sketch book and quickly draw something on the blank page.

The morning's small... argument, or whatever it was, as he didn't know what to call it, except that he felt somewhat bad about it, was gone by the time they had gotten off the subway. Steve's anxiety about his vision dream had also been tucked far and away as they concentrated on their recon mission.

While walking around Brooklyn would have been more prudent, both of them had agreed that it was better to get opinions and the like. The best place for that was a university, and the largest and most tech-diverse one was NYU's School of Engineering. It was clear to both of them that this reality was tech-heavy and reliant, even more so than their own reality. Military and domestic applications of mechatronics and robotics seemed to have been implemented on quite a large scale, given that they had been attacked several times by mechanical enemies, rather than flesh-and-blood ones. Hence, an engineering school would be the best place to get information.

Thus now, a little after the noon-time rush to get food, they sat side-by-side in the Commons at a table. Bucky was nursing a large cup of coffee, and Steve was sketching a few things, having already finished his own cup of coffee.

“Thought you were sketching profiles,” Bucky commented as he glanced over to see that Steve was now sketching a hand holding a cup— “Hey...” he began.

He saw the edges of Steve's lips quirk up ever so slightly, before hearing him say, “The loud, political lady to our three-o-clock just left with her dog. The Professor of Electrical Engineering at our eleven-o-clock is now arguing with her husband on the phone about picking up their son from daycare. Nervous student at our ten-o-clock is now more relaxed, now that his friends have shown up, and is not muttering to himself anymore.”

“That gaggle of girls at our two-o-clock still haven't moved,” Bucky stated, glancing down at his phone and poked the screen to keep it active.

While it contained the standard front and rear camera, Stark had apparently installed one that ran along the width of the phone that also contained an unusual wide-view angle. Bucky currently had it pointed out from where he was sitting, and could see the gaggle at their table. It made surveying their immediate surroundings a lot easier and more unobtrusive, though Bucky did not continuously stare at his phone, and supplemented it with his own observations and people watching. He dared not record anything on the phone, lest it be confiscated by authorities, which was also why Steve was sketching on a sketch pad as well. Paper could be easily burned, shredded, and ditched.

“And you haven't updated any of your commentary about them or the other group behind them in the past few minutes,” Steve answered, continuing to sketch, shade, and fill out the contours of the hand and cup. “Got bored. Wanted to sketch something else.”

“Sketching my hand relieves you of your boredom?” he asked, giving him a slightly dubious look.

His words were not quite meant to be teasing, but Steve didn't answer him. Instead Bucky thought he saw Steve's skin turn a slight shade of pink. He didn't get to comment on that, as movement down on his phone's screen caught his attention. “And... a few of them are now trying to point their phones... at us.”

Steve's answer to that was to sigh in annoyance, before saying, “Turn off your phone. Left back pocket, my phone. Take it out with your left hand, put it on the table, and press the power button.”

“What?” he asked, puzzled.

“Left back pocket, my phone. Use your left hand when you take it out,” Steve repeated. “It's been wiped of my prints. If it does what I think it does, we're going to need to discard it. It's part of the security measures that Tony put into the phones. Just press the power button,” Steve stated, resuming his sketching.

Silently, Bucky did as Steve said, leaning to his left to reach across and down Steve's broad body to pluck the phone out. He righted himself and placed the phone on the table next to his own. Powering his own off, he then gingerly pressed the power button on Steve's phone. The effect wasn't as dramatic as he thought it would be, but an EMP was an EMP, even if cleverly disguised. There would be no digital photographic evidence of either him or Steve on anyone's phones, security cameras, or otherwise within the vicinity.

Exclamations of phones suddenly fizzling out and not working, along with some actually banging their dead electronics on the tables filled the air in the next few seconds. A few of the unlit park lamps also sparked, and Bucky saw the lights in lobby of one of the engineering school's buildings go completely out.

Wisely, he placed his phone back in his pocket, and affected a puzzled look as well, poking Steve's phone with his left hand. That was completely shut off, and he now understood why Steve had wanted him to handle it only with his left hand – the hand that had absolutely no fingerprints. He needed to crush the phone later and discard it piece by piece, as he had a hunch that there was tech that could probably trace where the localized EMP had been set off.

There were no sounds of sirens yet, just a lot of confused people. Even Steve had affected a perplexed look, glancing down at the inert phone before shrugging at him and flipping his sketch pad close. Bucky saw him slip the small sketch pad and pencil into his right pocket. In a quieter tone, he heard him say, “I think we should leave now.”

“Local press and photographers follow you around a lot after you woke up?” he quietly asked, as they casually got up.

Bucky took Steve's phone with his left hand, and slipped to the left side of Steve. He flicked eyes to the left, over towards the gaggle that had strangely, and impolitely tried to photograph them. He didn't think they recognized Steve, as Steve did look quite different from his possessed counterpart here – especially with the beard, baseball hat, longer hair, and glasses disguising him.

He himself had his long hair and his hat pulled down as far as it would go, and he knew how to blend in and be unobtrusive. Most of the girls though, were now crouched over their inoperable phones, expressions carrying that of frustration. None were paying attention to either him or Steve.

“National and international. Fury made sure there was a detail the first few weeks I was in DC to draw them away,” Steve answered as they made their way out of the area. They watched and listened to a few people walking faster than they were, openly and loudly complain about going to the carrier stores to get their phones reloaded with software.

“Didn't expect school girls to do that sort of thing though,” he said, frowning slightly. He remembered how much Steve cherished the times where he was not in the limelight of being 'Captain America' during the war.

“They probably thought we were a couple,” Steve quietly stated.

“Of idiots?”

A brief moment of silence answered his quip, but a moment later, he heard Steve snort in laughter, saying, “Yeah, I guess so. A couple of idiots, that we are.”

“For ruining their day,” he followed up, softening his intent.

Bucky then reached out and clasped Steve's left hand around his right, weaving their fingers together. He felt Steve hesitate for a split second, catching the edge of his sharply surprised glance over at him. Instead of verbally answering, he held up the phone in his left hand. He saw realization pass through Steve's eyes, and lowered his left hand back down to his side.

As much as Bucky wondered when Steve had learned that public displays of affection were a good distraction technique to divert attention, he brushed that thought to the side. He needed that distraction to divert any untoward attention to his crushing of the phone that had released the EMP. Everyone would be 'seeing' the two of them, their hands clasped together, but not the phone at all. Piece by crushed piece would be discarded, but not in a trail of debris. Those pieces would be kicked along the side of the streets and into gutters if at all possible.

“On to Queens, then?” Steve asked, as Bucky began to slowly crush the phone with his left hand.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I'm with you. Let's get this done.”

* * *

_Nightfall..._

 

The analysis didn't stop with a beep as Natasha had expected it to. Instead, all that blinked on the frozen screens was [Analysis Complete]. Curious, she got up from where she had been sitting for the better part of the day, searching through databases and reading up on the 'history' of this reality. Of course, everything had been offline, and there had been a slight bias in what she had read, but it was informative enough.

“Natasha?” Murdock questioned in response to her movements.

“Analysis complete,” she answered, making her way to the other end of the table.

While she had been reading, Murdock had used an interface to verbally updated reconnaissance information about the Bronx, courtesy of his clients. Most of the information she heard him input was not good news for movement purposes. More than a few of his clients' families and friends were being harassed more than usual by the police.

Yet, even with that, many people in the Bronx were talking about the death of Sam, and the appearance of Barnes as a 'risen' Captain America – equating it to a phoenix being reborn. Police were trying to crack down on the dissent, but it looked like another Февра́льская револю́ция was beginning to bloom with the seeds they had planted yesterday.

“Hmmm,” she couldn't help but say, as she tapped a couple of things on the hardlight projection in front of her.

“Hmmm never equates to anything good,” Murdock dryly stated.

Natasha frowned, but not because of the errant lawyer's words, but because of what the cursor blinking at the end of the analysis said. It was a single line statement, and it opened up a pit of ice in her stomach that she had not felt in a very long time. “Murdock, you might want to go upstairs and get Tony.”

She glanced over at him, knowing that even though he could not see her, at least not in the traditional sense, he could perceive her heartbeat and however else he 'saw' things. “The Cube,” she began, pausing for a moment to try to allay the ice that seemed to want to crawl up and out of her stomach. “The Cube feeds on memories. Specifically, the past, present, and... future.”

~~~

Either something was going on, or Bowery was usually this strangely empty at this time at night, as Steve crossed the street. His eyes were flickering this way and that, looking for any signs of danger or an impending ambush. Bucky followed beside him, his head turning slightly this way and that, also keeping an eye out as they made their way down in the black looming shadows of Confucius Plaza to their left.

The summer sun had set about forty-five minutes ago, and rush-hour traffic was beginning to die down. Yet, Bowery, one of the busiest streets due to it being a main thoroughfare for those getting on and off the Manhattan Bridge, was fairly empty of cars and people. It made him uneasy to not see the usual traffic patterns he remembered and was used to while living in the city when he had woken up from ice.

Bucky had his phone out, held in his right hand, but it remained silent. Earlier in the late afternoon, Bucky's phone, along with everyone else in the vicinity of where they had been doing recon in Queens, had had a notification broadcast. It had been a simple video message from some official-looking person who looked to be working in the government administration. All that person had stated was for the populace to be on the lookout for a man dressed in all black armor with a silver left arm.

Though Steve had seen Bucky unconsciously touch his 'skinned' left arm in response to that message, they only had to glance at each other to know what they were both thinking. Somehow, somewhere, Bucky's counterpart had been discovered and landed on the government's radar. The two of them had to now be even more careful that they did not draw attention to themselves, especially after the localized EMP that had been unleashed in Brooklyn. That was also when Steve decided that they should head back to Tony's base, not wanting to place Bucky in greater potential danger.

Now, even though Bucky's phone was not giving them any alerts, pings, or otherwise noise that indicated any emergency declaration of the sorts, the emptiness of Bowery and its inhabitants made him a little uneasy. Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when the light musical cue of the ring tone on Bucky's phone sounded. He glanced down as Bucky turned the phone over, seeing that the contact information listed the caller as Tony.

Accepting the silent offer of the phone, Steve swiped up and held it to his ear, saying, “Cap here.”

“Cap!” Tony's slightly tinny exclamation came through on the line. “Shit, is Frosty, your reality's Frosty, anywhere near you?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, glancing over towards Bucky, as they continued to walk. Even though the phones had most likely been built by Tony, the cell towers the phones tapped into were not all that secured, no matter how many towers the signal was rerouted through. Call signs were a must, though he took care to correct Tony's call sign for Bucky, as he assumed that 'Frosty' was Tony's nickname for the Winter Soldier call sign.

“Wolf's right next to me,” he stated.

“Oh, thank fucking God,” Tony said. “Listen, there's a BOLO out for Frosty. Get back here ASAP.”

“We'll be there shortly,” he answered before hanging up. Handing the phone back to Bucky, he said, “Tony's found something.”

He knew that Tony most likely got the national alert around the same time they had gotten it, and the news was old. The fact that Tony specifically mentioned it this late made Steve assume that Tony had found something else – or even better yet, the analysis regarding the Cube had been finished.

The two of them crossed into the open playground in the school and entered the building without any incident. Making their way down the empty halls, Steve now ignored the paintings hanging on the walls, trying his best to push aside his disappointment and despair at just what Tony had to do to survive in this world. As arrogant and brilliant as he felt Tony was in his reality, he didn't deserve such a fate – especially not something in the form of this.

Riding on the heels of that wave of feelings was a cold gust of anger at what his counterpart in this world had done. He knew it was not him per se, but rather the Red Skull possessing his counterpart's body—

“Steve, it's not your fault,” Bucky stated as Steve felt his right hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently in reassurance. “You didn't do this.”

Steve couldn't help the slightly bitter smile that quirked up his lips, as Bucky kept his hand on his shoulder while taking the phone in his left hand to scan into the elevator's panel. Lately, it had been usually him who had to reassure Bucky, to remind him that everything that the Winter Soldier had done was not Bucky's fault. Now, it seemed that their roles had been reversed.

The door opened and Bucky let go, stepping in. Steve stepped in after him, and the doors slid close. The ride down to the underground base was short, though when the doors opened he was not as surprised as he knew he should have been. The rest of the group was there – minus Bucky's counterpart in this reality.

Tony looked like his usual handsome self, dressed in the same a three-piece suit that Steve remembered seeing on him in the morning, though he looked a little harried. Falsworth-Crichton had her hair up in a ponytail, and was wearing casual but stylish clothes that reminded him of what Natasha wore whenever not on duty. Murdock had a suit on, but was wearing dark glasses indoors—Steve realized that Murdock was _blind_.

Putting that thought aside for the moment, he saw that Stevie and James were dressed in similar outfits to both him and Bucky, though neither looked like they had any good news on their search for clues to the whereabouts of Caroline. Finally, Natasha had changed out of the spare sweats and into something similar that he remembered that she usually wore on her off duty days – jeans, boots, casual top, and leather jacket.

“Didn't realize that you guys were that close to base, but whatever,” Tony stated, as the two of them stepped out and approached what looked to be an informal gathering. “Glad you guys made it back without incident – I hope?”

“Had to use the EMP on my phone to make sure we weren't being followed or photographed,” Steve said, as Bucky held out his phone for Tony to collect.

Tony didn't say a word as he took the phone, but Steve did notice that his jaw had tightened ever so slightly with the news. “Long story short,” Tony said, stepping back, “the Cube is powered by memories—”

It was Murdock, then almost a fraction of a second after that, Bucky, who both reacted first. Murdock was already taking a couple of steps forward, while Bucky was already in the midst of turning, before Steve and the others began to react as well. However, it was all for naught as the elevator door opened with a ding. Its occupant stumbled out slightly, holding a familiar-looking, red-white-blue concentric circled, and white-starred circular shield, gripped tightly in his gleaming metal left hand.

Steve took a step back, not in fear, but in pure shock: Barnes was covered in an all-black, metallic-like armor, from neck on down, leaving only the silver arm exposed. From chin on up, was an eerily familiar-looking black mask, and glasses that covered his eyes. There was no head covering, and Steve felt a thrill of adrenaline run through him as he stared at the Winter Soldier of this reality.

“Got it,” Barnes stated, sounding exhausted, as Steve saw the mask and glasses seemingly 'bleed' back into the armor, retracting as he stood upright and tall.

“Shit, you could have called for backup, kid,” Tony swore. Steve saw Murdock and the others begin to relax only slightly. “There's a fucking BOLO out there for you!”

“And we're all still on the Most Wanted list,” Barnes fired back. “Dead or alive. I'd say my chances are still good.”

“Tony—” Stevie spoke up, attempting to intervene before a shouting match could break out. She didn't get to even take a step forward towards the two when Murdock yet again, took another step towards the elevator, raising the alert again.

By the virtue of being closest to the elevator doors, Steve saw Barnes immediately turn and flip the shield up and into a defensive position. The mask and glasses bled up again to cover his face, just as the noise of the elevator settling again sounded. The doors opened, and though Steve's view was partially blocked, he thought he saw a lone person within the elevator.

“Grant?!” came Barnes's disbelieving exclamation.

“Barnes,” came the answer from the man inside the elevator.

“Grant? Grant Ward?” Falsworth-Crichton exclaimed, sounding just as surprised as her teammate. Even Murdock had his eyebrows raised behind the dark sunglasses he had on, which told Steve that this man, Grant Ward, was not expected.

Steve thought he heard some choice words being muttered by Tony, before seeing him close the distance to the elevator. “Let him pass, Barnes,” Tony said.

He saw the mask and glasses retract on Barnes's face, as the younger man looking over with a slightly confused expression on his face. “What the hell, Stark? You said Grant was dead.”

“Yeah,” Falsworth-Crichton stated as well, taking a couple of steps forward. “Skull has six Cubes, Grant was sent to get one. What... is this? LMD? I didn't know we had resources to build a LMD.”

“Double-agent,” Barnes stated, anger clear in his tone.

“Compartmentalization,” was all Tony answered in response to the statement. “Let him through Barnes. He has the report I need—right, kid?”

“You're not going to like it though, Director,” Ward stated from inside the elevator.

“Stark,” Murdock finally spoke up from where he was, but did not take a step forward. Steve saw him fold his arms across his chest as the blind superhero continued to say, “That Director Coulson of that bridge reality did warn you—”

“And I believe in giving people a choice, Murdock. A second chance,” Tony interrupted, briefly turning back to pin Murdock with a glare, before returning his attention to those gathered near the elevator. “Let him through, Barnes,” he ordered again.

“Nat,” Steve began at the same time that Tony repeated his order, noticing that Natasha was moving ever so slightly forward, as if she were a cat stalking a prey.

“Framework?” Natasha questioned, as Barnes finally relented and took a step back, though Steve saw that he still held the shield up, and did not relax at all.

Steve narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as he saw a young man step out. Grant Ward was almost as tall as he was, but with short-cropped dark hair and had a lankiness, languid movement about him. He saw Ward's eyes widen ever to slightly as Natasha stepped into the young man's view, before those sharp dark eyes of his immediately flicked over to where he and Bucky were standing. Steve's guard immediately went up, as he heard the faint whir of Bucky's arm spooling up as well.

Ward's eyes were the eyes of a killer.

“Yes,” came the single affirmation from Ward, flicking his eyes back at her, and seemed to solely focus on Natasha.

“HYDRA?” Natasha asked again.

Ward nodded once.

“Resistance?” she continued to question in single words.

“Director Jeffery Mace, Inhuman leader,” Ward stated.

“Turn, turn, turn,” was all that she said, as she nodded in affirmation, seemingly approving of whatever had just happened. It also seemed that she did not consider Ward a threat to any of them as Steve saw her turn her back to Ward, and confidently walk away to stand next to him and Bucky. “He's clean,” she stated after a moment, turning back around.

“How?” James immediately asked.

“Coulson,” Natasha said, “our reality's Coulson in that bridge reality, somehow broke the rules of time and space to save as many inhabitants of our reality's Framework and bring them to that bridge reality, before they could all be wiped out. It's the same rules he broke to get us that information about the 'Mad Titan'.”

“As much as I want to pick your brain on how exactly you figured that out,” Tony spoke up before any follow up questions could be asked, “which is, by the way, is correct as per what that Coulson in the bridge reality told me, we got more pressing issues. Information.”

Tony's gesture for all of them to follow him to what Steve could assume would be the Faraday cage room, was confident. Ward immediately followed Tony, and one-by-one, the others followed.

“Nat? What's the deal with this Ward guy?” Steve whispered, hanging back as he held out a hand to stop her from going forward before Bucky.

“Grant Ward was a HYDRA mole and double-agent within Coulson's team back before SHIELD fell,” Natasha explained. “Coulson killed him during a mission on another planet, to prevent him from returning with them through some Inhuman device. I visited Coulson at Clint's house, and he told me that that was the one thing he regretted doing the most – killing Ward in cold blood. There was mention of Ward in what I could read in General Talbot's encrypted file, except that this time, he was a member of the Resistance led by Director Mace within the Framework. In there, Ward was also a mole within HYDRA for the Resistance.”

“Turn, turn, turn,” Steve murmured, as his eyes briefly landed on the back of Ward's head.

“He can be trusted,” Natasha stated with confidence coloring her tone. “Coulson wouldn't have let him loose into a world and break the rules of another, if he didn't trust him.”

Neither of them got to converse any further as they entered the Faraday cage room. The Cube was still sitting in the center, but all of the leads that had been attached to it, along with the hardlight screens, were gone. Steve took a seat on the left side of Bucky, with Stevie sitting on his left. On Stevie's right was James, and then Barnes, followed by Natasha, who had surprisingly opted to sit next to Ward. Tony sat at the head of the table, and Murdock sat on Tony's left, with Falsworth-Crichton filling in the space between Bucky and Murdock.

“This Cube,” Tony began without preamble, and gestured to the object sitting at the center of the table, “is powered by memories. Specifically by heightened emotional memories from the past, present, and possible future. Those nightmares that the two of you—” Tony gestured to both him and Stevie “—had, most likely were influenced by the Cube.”

“So you're saying that what we've seen, could happen?” Stevie asked, frowning ever so slightly in worry.

“Could, but I subscribe to the Yoda philosophy,” Tony answered, shrugging slightly. Steve wasn't quite sure if the 'Yoda philosophy' was a reference to the same character that Steve remembered watching in a trilogy of fairly entertaining movies that was claimed to have defined a generation.

However, Tony did not elaborate and instead, continued to say, “But that's one of the six Cubes. What are the others, kid?”

“I'll get to that, but I think this is more important first,” Ward stated, tapping a few things on his portion of the table and brought up a holographic projection of a simple-looking cube. “A cube as six sides, right?” The agent didn't even wait for nods from the rest of them before continuing to say, “A seventh point in the center to define the edges and faces – a point of origin. The Skull has already tested the opening of multiple portals on one dimension, chaining all six of them together and drawing the power that each contains to do so.”

“So what, he's planning to expand that?” Falsworth-Crichton asked, before gesturing to the rest of them down the table, saying, “They said they saw twenty of them open up in one reality.”

“Yes, and without the seventh Cube, the Skull can't open up portals to multiple realities – only the ones where he's stolen the Cube's from,” Ward stated. “If you put the realities as points in 3D-space, that's what the six cubes are for, and the seventh as the point of origin. This reality.”

“Shit,” Steve heard Tony mutter as he saw him scrub his face with his hands, briefly leaning back in his chair, frustration evident in his actions.

“How big is the Skull's invasion armies?” Stevie asked before Steve could jump in with the same question.

“Not big enough to successfully invade, suppress, and control ten, much less twenty realities,” Ward stated, shaking his head slightly. “From what I could find in Zola's laboratories, Skull wants to punch into other realities to secure multiple Tesseracts.”

Silence greeted Ward's words, as they all knew by now how exactly a Tesseract worked. It wasn't just seven realities that were in danger of being invaded, it was many, including the one he and his friends were from. Steve had no words to say in the face of a real threat that they had unknowingly perpetuated and propagated with yesterday's distraction at Times Square.

“There's more, isn't there?” Barnes spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“It was stuff that I wasn't sure I should believe in, since Zola's not big on genetic science. However, seeing the two of you...” Ward began, trailing off for a moment as Steve caught the agent's eyes staring directly at both him and Stevie.

“Rumor had it that the Skull had recently traveled to another reality, and abducted a girl that apparently has the super-soldier serum inside of her,” Ward continued to say. “I don't even understand a fraction of the science behind it, but I think the theory is that the Skull and his cohorts might be using this serum inside of this girl like a targeted virus or something.

“I think the Red Skull means to eliminate _any_ person who has the serum in his or her blood, well in advance of an invasion into a reality. It's the same pattern that I've caught glimpses of in countless of realities, while living in that bridge world.”

Steve saw the agent tap his fingers on the table for a moment, before saying, “He wants to make sure that there aren't any super-soldiers, or Captain America, in any reality who would successfully lead the resistance against HYDRA.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	17. Memory: многочисленный

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This memory fragment follows directly after "Memory: один" in the first story, linking together to form one full memory.

_**Begin Memory: многочисленный** _

_Year: 1944, no additional fragments_

_Date: November 5 th, no additional fragments_

_Time: Evening, no additional fragments_

_Location: SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

“Howard must be having a grand old time, if he’s kept Steve down there for as long as it has been. Usually, it would have been a quick ten or fifteen minute discussion, and an ‘off you go’ from Howard, while shooing Steve away.”

Bucky glanced over to see that Peggy had crossed her legs, one over another, folding and weaving her fingers together while resting her elbows on her knees. There was a light smile on her lips, with the firelight casting all sorts of interesting shadows across her face. It had been at least a half-hour since Steve had been summoned away by one of Stark’s assistants.

“You getting cold, Peggy?” he asked. “We could head back down and wait there.”

“No, no,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. “Just wistfully wondering what new gadget or device Howard’s cooked up this time for Steve to try out in the field. He didn’t say much to either of us when he requested our opinions and some information earlier in the day.”

If it were any other woman wondering the same thing, Bucky would have answered with a lighthearted quip about some new gadget that would help them in the field, or even jokingly state that it could possibly explode even before it even got to the field testing phase, but he didn’t. Peggy was not that kind of woman that he would ever speak that way to. She was Steve’s girl, and incredibly intelligent to see past bluster and false reassurances. She had proven that time and again, most recently just less than a half hour ago, by correctly guessing – unstated as well – what he had written on that piece of paper that he had burned in the fire.

Instead, he asked, “So what are you plans for after the war?”

“It’s a little early to speculate on that, isn’t it, Sergeant?” she asked, giving him a mild look with one eyebrow raised.

“It’s never to early to have things to look forward to,” he answered. “This—” he gestured to everything around them “—is eventually going to all end.”

“Yes,” she agreed, but the lightness in her eyes was gone as she leaned forward slightly, asking, “What is your real question, Bucky? You know me, you know my work, and you know that I’m not going to give up my duties to the SSR even after the war ends. The threats to this world will not end with Johann Schmidt’s capture.”

“Not even if Steve asks you to?” he carefully questioned.

“We already had that discussion,” she stated, pressing her lips firmly together in slight anger.

“Good,” he said, nodding in approval.

A sense of relief also swept through him, as he knew that were it any other man, they would not have as open of a mind as Steve to allow their best girl – or even wife – to continue to participate in such a dangerous line of work. Bucky knew that he had had initial reservations about the competency of Peggy, but his previous assumptions about her had been quickly and succinctly proven wrong. Peggy Carter was Steve’s equal in every way, super-soldier serum aside, and he could see that she was not going to let her own career stall in whatever advancement Steve would get after the war.

“I know how everyone else sees me, Bucky,” she said. “Even you had done so before.”

“I know,” he answered, nodding in agreement, “and I’ll say it again: I’m sorry.”

In a slight effort to steer the conversation back to a more lighthearted discussion so that if Steve came back, he would not be stumbling into a tension-filled atmosphere between the two of them, Bucky said, “It was one of the many regrets that I had, that I wanted to write down and burn.”

“You’re only allowed one per year,” she pointed out.

He sighed, shaking his head as he couldn’t help the wistful smile quirking up his lips. “I guess I’ll save that for next year’s burning. Underestimating you, and all of the stupid assumptions that came with it.”

“And I’ll save mine about you for next year as well,” she answered, the light smile back on her lips. “Pig-headed womanizer with little to no grasp of the obviousness of the situation.”

At that, Bucky could help but laugh, even though it did sting ever so slightly that she had initially thought that about him. “You wound me, Pegs,” he said, chuckling.

“I have many more where that came from,” she stated, shaking her head slightly as the light smile on her lips bloomed into a full one. “I did grow up with a brother, after all, and he taught it all to me.”

It was the distant, “Hey!” of Steve calling out to them that caused both him and Peggy to not launch into a brief, but most likely bound to be amusing, insult-lobbying war of words. Bucky turned slightly from where he was sitting, and at the same time, Peggy did as well. He saw Steve approaching, with a bottle and three squat glasses in his hands. Bucky moved over to open up the space between both him and Peggy, so that Steve could sit between them.

“Sorry for making both of you wait that long,” Steve apologized as soon as he got close, taking a seat in the space between them and handing out the glasses.

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Bucky said, as Steve poured a generous amount of liquid into each glass, before setting the bottle down. “We were just discussing what we’d do after the war’s over.”

“Oh?” Steve said, swinging his head back and forth between the two of them, giving both of them a slightly quizzical look.

“Well, Sergeant Barnes here, says that he wants to become a mime, when he gets out of the Army,” Peggy spoke up, her tone and facial expression completely without humor.

“And Agent Carter says that she wants to tour with a vaudeville company, try some exotic belly dancing… you know, that sort of risque stuff,” he countered. He tried, but he couldn’t keep his expression as straight-laced as Peggy had, and openly grinned as he saw Peggy flush a little redder than what the firelight was casting on her skin.

Steve groaned, shaking his head slightly as he said, “The two of you are terrible.”

“And don’t you know it,” he stated, laughing as he slapped Steve on the shoulder. “So what are we drinking to?”

“The future?” Peggy said after regaining her composure.

“The future, but without those ridiculous things both of you just mentioned,” Steve stated.

“The future,” Bucky agreed.

 

_**End Memory: многочисленный** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	18. The Paths We Take – Part 1

**Chapter 9: The Paths We Take – Part 1**

 

“He wants to make sure that there aren't any super-soldiers, or Captain America, in any reality who would successfully lead the resistance against HYDRA.”

“So what's to stop him from killing himself, if he successfully deploys this against all realities?” Falsworth-Crichton asked. “I mean, why not just use his own blood to create the virus?”

The question was valid, but Bucky had remembered enough of just how the Red Skull operated during the war in his reality to know that there would be several layered contingencies in place. It had only been because of the SSR's personnel, combined with the entire 107th running in small strike teams all over Europe, that they had successfully disrupted the Red Skull's plans for world domination. This Red Skull in this reality, combined with the sharp strategic and tactical intellect know-how from Steve Rogers's body and mind he possessed, would most likely have _many_ such plans in place.

“I don't know,” Ward answered. “That was all I could get from a glimpse of whatever genetic research Zola was doing. As for the girl that Skull abducted, all I know is that she's being held somewhere near the device.”

“Okay, and what powers the other Cubes?” Stark asked before any further questions could be asked.

“A combination of the seven virtues and sins of man,” came the surprising answer.

“What?” Bucky heard Steve and Steve's counterpart question at the same time. Everyone else had varying degrees of skeptical looks about them. Bucky knew that he wasn't the only one to wonder if the double-agent may have lost his mind.

“Zola and the others don't know exactly what powers them, except that they seem to feed on memories, similar to this cube,” Ward stated, gesturing to the cube. “The tests that the scientists were running pointed to some types of memories powering the Cubes at a far greater proportion than other types.” The agent shook his head, looking apologetic, as he said, “I'm sorry, that's all I could decipher from what they've been saying, and from the notes.”

Silence answered Ward's words, but it was broken a by Stark as the man pressed on with debriefing the agent, asking, “Got a location for the device, and the girl?”

“It's here all right,” Ward answered. “Upper Bay, under water facility. Skull's been in there nearly twenty-four seven for the past month. I couldn't get the blueprints though. The servers were locked down after Wilson successfully infiltrated it and apparently smuggled it out though some means unknown.” Ward paused for a moment before glancing down at the table, quietly saying, “Wilson was captured before I could secure an escape route out through Jersey for him. After that, I couldn't break cover to help him escape though.”

“Couldn't or wouldn't?” came the biting accusation from Falsworth-Crichton.

“Jackie,” Bucky heard his counterpart of this reality warn, surprising him.

Bucky kept his expression as neutral as possible though, as out of the corner of his eyes on his left, he saw Steve curl his hands into fists. Of Steve's counterpart, there was anger in her eyes that looked similar to Steve, but she had not performed the same actions. Neither interrupted the briefing though.

“Anything else?” Stark intervened before the tension that had settled into the room could boil over.

“There are reports from the field that various convoys going in and around the mid-Atlantic region have been attacked by people wearing SHIELD uniforms,” Ward stated, tenting his hands together for a brief moment. “From Edison all the way down to Emporia. Twenty-four convoys were hit in the last two weeks alone, independent of Wilson's infiltration.”

The agent highlighted the twenty-four areas between the two towns from New Jersey to Virginia on a projected maps. Then he said, “Based on that, and what happened last night, Skull's given orders for martial law to be imposed around the region in two days. That's all I have for now, sir.”

“They've got it locked down tight, if we've haven't heard any of it in streets,” Stark stated, nodding. “You need any help getting back?”

“They got me going to Brooklyn tonight to investigate some apparent EMP that was set off,” the agent stated, a humorless grin appearing on his face. “Was going to get into a bar fight with the co-eds, for old time's sake.”

“All right, kid,” Stark answered, nodding. “I'll get you updated orders soon.”

Ward didn't verbally answer and merely nodded before getting up and leaving without another word. As the caged door closed, Stark held up a hand to prevent anyone from talking. It was only after a non-verbal nod from Murdock that Stark placed his hand back down.

It need not be said that throughout the entire almost one-way debrief, Ward's only purpose there was to present everything he had gathered thus far. Every burning question that the others had, had to be held back and not asked, to keep not only themselves, but also Ward safe. Should Ward's duplicity be discovered by HYDRA, then the agent would not be able to give out details of what Stark and the others knew.

It had also been bad timing on all of them that Ward had seen the five of them. Yet, with all things considered, if the EMP investigation didn't already give away that there was still active resistance within the city, their attack to secure the reality device was going to give them away. There was no way around it – the facility was underwater, and any attack was going to draw unwanted attention.

“The kid's good, Stark,” Murdock stated a few moments later. “I haven't heard anyone with that steady of a heartbeat since Natasha.”

“Now can I speak?” Bucky heard Falsworth-Crichton grouse. Stark's response was to only nod once, before the woman continued to say, “What the hell orders did you give Ward, Stark?! Wilson may not have seen eye-to-eye with you, but fuck it all, he was our _friend_!”

“He did what had to be done. Orders for an agent like Ward are absolute, so that he can survive in that nest of vipers, and do what is necessary when the time comes.”

Bucky glanced down at his folded hands resting on the table, instead of reacting like some of the others – that included Steve – in staring at James and what he had bluntly stated. There was a clear delineation in the room as to who understood why Stark had done what he had done, versus those who did not want to believe the words.

The perspective in the war was clear to him, as it greatly reminded him of just how the Cold War played out in his reality. This was a chess match between Stark and the Red Skull, and Stark had to sacrifice a piece on the board – Wilson – to keep a double-agent's cover within the Skull's ranks.

_Shuri, Melinda, Franklin, Hunter, Bobby, and Grant's deaths – that's on me. Wilson's death – that's on you. Only you, Stark. I hope you're fucking happy that you killed yet another Captain America._

His counterpart's words made more sense now, as he glanced up, and was not surprised at what he saw. Steve, Steve's counterpart, and Falsworth-Crichton had various expressions of dismay on their faces. Stark had the decency to look ashamed of his actions, and Bucky could clearly see guilt eating at the man. Circumstances had forced Stark to give that absolute order to Ward.

Bucky found that he could not meet Steve's eyes though, as he felt his gaze on him for a moment. He knew that Steve was finally also understanding just how this game needed to be played if they were to have any chance at getting to that reality device to get home. He may have been Steve's north star now, but Bucky was glad that his best friend still kept to his own ideals.

“So we have two problems now,” Stark spoke up, breaking the tension-filled silence. “Securing that device, and getting your daughter out of the line of fire.”

This time, Bucky could not keep the slight surprise from appearing on his face as he glanced up, noticing that Steve and the others carried similar expressions. Stark was pointing to Steve's counterpart when he said that, and Bucky frowned. None of them had given any indication that they were here for two things – only one; the reality device.

Bucky flicked his eyes over towards Barnes. His counterpart had left after those initial caustic words last night that had been spat at Stark. Yet, he did not remember hearing the elevator move during the middle of last night—

“Body camera footage embedded into the suit,” Stark stated, interrupting Bucky's train of thoughts as he looked back towards Stark to see the inventor holding up the dog tags that contained the variant armored version of the Captain America uniform.

Stark slid the tags to Barnes, who merely arrested the movement with a metal hand on top of them, but did not put it on over his black, metallic-like uniform. “Needed to know who I was dealing with,” Stark simply stated. “And what possibly killed the other five who were sent to retrieve the Cubes.”

“So then, what was the point of the recon you had us do, Tony? Get information for you, while making sure that we weren't lying? Another vetting process?” Steve asked.

Bucky heard the mistrust in his tone, but there was nothing he could do at the moment to alleviate that. This was between Steve's ethics and Stark's way of doing things in this reality, and Bucky had no recourse in that argument at all. His own hands were as blood-covered as Stark's was, probably even more so.

“I spent ten years trying to outsmart the Red Skull, but as you can see, it's not working, Rogers,” Stark stated. “That son of a bitch has Steve Rogers's strategic and tactical knowledge – knowledge and experience that I can't even compete with. I'm not above asking for both of your help, but I'll be damned if I don't know what I'm walking into.”

“You could have asked,” Steve's counterpart quietly spoke up, hurt clearly evident in her tone. “We... I would have told you.”

“Time is something that none of us have,” Stark answered, tapping a few things on his side of the table to bring up a map of New York City. “Trust even more so. Too many good men and women have already died, because of those two things. Sorry.”

The clattering of Steve's sketch pad onto the table, followed by him ripping out a piece of paper from the pad and folding it up before Bucky could catch a glimpse of what was on the paper, broke the awkward silence that had fallen around the table. Software scanner trigger or otherwise, he then saw the profiles and notes that Steve had sketched during their recon of Brooklyn and Queens float up into the displayed projection.

“It sounds like the Red Skull has been recruiting heavily at Brooklyn Tech,” Steve spoke up, the tone of his voice betraying nothing of what Bucky had heard earlier. “It would make sense to recruit the locals who have a better feel of the area and know-how on how to build and maintain the reality device. Checkpoints near Jamaica support that theory, and Ward's information. If the silent protests at Queens College are anything to go by, not everyone is 'subscribing' to the HYDRA doctrine.”

“Silent protests?” Stark asked, frowning slightly as Bucky saw him pull up some program to begin matching the sketches to whatever database of profile pictures that he was running the comparison against.

“Better than the crackdown of vocal dissent that the Bronx is currently experiencing,” Murdock stated, not quite directly looking at Stark when he stated those words. Bucky found it slightly odd, but perhaps Murdock truly was blind and just had overly sensitive hearing – enough to hear and discern heartbeats. That still did not explain the seemingly direct look he had received last night on the rooftops from the man who called himself Daredevil.

“Same with Staten Island,” Falsworth-Crichton said, nodding as well. “They probably heard about whatever was happening in the streets since last night. I would've thought that college kids would be more vocal about their civil liberties being taken away from them, but they probably remembered what happened to their friends eight years ago.”

“The Skull hasn't publicly shown himself in a month, Stark,” Barnes spoke up. “You know that it's not like him to go without being seen for that long. The militarized zones are still under heavy guard, but it sounds like the region is ripe for revolution. We need to take advantage of that, and destroy this cube.”

Bucky was carefully watching both of his counterparts when Barnes had said that last statement. It confirmed what his and James's conclusion about their mutual counterpart thought about the Cube and the possible usage of it. Their mutual counterpart did not think that this reality's Steve Rogers existed anymore – not when there was absolutely no more evidence in the past decade that any sign of Steve Rogers still existed within the possession of the Red Skull.

“If Ward's analysis is correct, then those six cubes and this one here are possibly making everyone remember what it was like _before_ the Skull took control,” Stark said in an even tone that was a little too neutral and carefully worded for Bucky's liking. “We destroy this one, we lose the one chance we have to dislodge the Skull from possessing Rogers.”

“There is absolutely no evidence that that Cube—” he heard his counterpart began, jabbing a finger at the inert Cube on the table “—or any others—”

“Kid, Steve used Lukin's Cube to free you—”

“And he's dead,” Barnes growled. “It's already been a decade. There's no evidence left. What we need to do now is find out whomever has those blueprints, get in there, and get that girl out, before the Skull can use her blood to kill her mother and any others who have the super-soldier serum.”

It didn't seem like the argument – as old and worn as it sounded to Bucky's ears – was done. Yet, surprisingly, it was Stevie who spoke up first, saying, “And what is to stop either of you from utilizing holographic projections of the Cube and 'destroying' that?”

Before either could answer, Steve also spoke up, nodding to Stevie's words while saying, “Speaking from experience, the best way to anger the Red Skull and make him come out from his base is to go about destroying the things he desperately wants. He'll ignore and let the world go to chaos without him there, coming out only when he's ready to remake it. It's what he did in our reality's World War Two. So like Stevie said, 'destroy' a projection of that Cube, but save it for later, when you've captured him.”

“Once he's out of that facility, we'll keep him occupied while sending a secondary strike team into the facility,” Stevie immediately stated, almost speaking over Steve, as he finished presenting the idea that seemed to have lodged into both Rogers's minds.

Bucky felt as if he were watching a fast-paced tennis match of planning, with the two literally bouncing, expanding, and explaining the idea. Stevie continued to say, “The secondary team can go find Caroline, and destroy the other cubes. We save the reality device. Given the tech in this reality, I'm sure there is a way you can find an alternate means of opening a reality portal to Steve's reality, just like the initial portal opened to mine.”

“Skull will take the bait,” Steve stated confidently, taking over from his counterpart as soon as she paused. “If the pomp and circumstances of last night's 'trial' were anything, and what people here have been saying about his administration and the laws implemented, he won't let the appearance of _two_ Captain Americas go.”

“Three,” Barnes quietly spoke up, as Bucky saw him drape the dog tags over his neck, then double-tapped the concentric circle and star shield branded on his metal arm. The black Winter Soldier armor bled back into the silver arm, leaving only the grey bodysuit underneath.

“If the two of you will have me,” Barnes continued to say, his eyes focused on Steve and Stevie.

“You got out for a good reason, kid,” Stark began, before either Steve or Stevie could answer. Bucky was surprised at the amount of sympathy in Stark's tone, though he knew that he should not take stock in re-evaluating his opinion of Stark. It would be useless to compare this man to the one in his reality.

“And I'm getting back in for a better reason,” he heard his counterpart answer in a solemn tone. “No conditions this time, Stark.”

Bucky glanced over to see a faint smile on Steve's lips. It mirrored the one that Steve's counterpart was also wearing. Of his other counterpart, Bucky saw an understanding look on James's face. Murdock's expression was difficult to discern behind the glasses, but Bucky did see him nod once to the spoken words. Falsworth-Crichton was openly smiling, and there was a strangely pensive look on Stark's face, before he saw the man nod in understanding.

Romanov was the only one with a neutral look on her face, and Bucky caught her glance over at him. He didn't answer her through either Red Room signals or gave any indication of what he thought about his counterpart's request. He had told Romanov the reason why he thought his counterpart did not think this reality's Steve Rogers could be saved, and he was sticking to that reason. It was the same reason that held his tongue in shattering the illusion that he thought that this Barnes was playing in front of the rest of them.

“If you need sparring practice with the shield, Steve and I would be glad to assist you,” Stevie offered.

“And you're welcome to join us,” Steve agreed. “Now, we just need the blueprints.”

“All right,” Stark said, bringing up the map that Ward had marked with the twenty-four convoy attacks, and projected it side-by-side with the map of New York. “Have at it, spies, because I have no fucking idea where a pattern is, in this. Given the Skull's propensity to use LMDs, I think Wilson may have uploaded the blueprints to one and hacked enough of its directive to get it to wherever the rest of his group his hiding. It's the only type of robot that would have enough room in its memory banks to hold several servers worth of information.”

“Is that why your reality's LMDs need something significant in terms of electronics to 'jump' if they're about to be destroyed?” Romanov asked.

“Yeah,” Stark answered, nodding. “It's another reason why this room was made into a Faraday cage. Advanced tech sucks sometimes.”

“You want me to go check all the sites, Tony?” Falsworth-Crichton asked.

“Wait,” Stark answered, his eyes focusing down the table. Bucky followed the inventor's look, and curiously found that James had a frown on his face. The intelligence officer's eyes were flickering back and forth ever so slightly at the map of the region.

“Captain Barnes?” Stark questioned.

“Where's this reality's Camp Lehigh?” James asked instead.

“Virginia,” Bucky heard his other counterpart answer. “Army trained both Steve and I there.”

“Jersey in our reality,” James stated. “Where 'Captain America' was born.”

“New Jersey in ours as well,” Steve said, giving him a slightly puzzled look. “It's where I trained, but not 'born'.”

“It's also where SHIELD got started in our reality,” Romanov followed up, tilting her head slightly while giving James a curious look.

“Hunch, Bucky?” Stevie asked.

“Gut,” James answered. “My gut's telling me that Sam Wilson's group is holed up in Camp Lehigh. Captain America is a symbol, and if your Sam Wilson is anything like the Sam Wilson I knew, he understands symbolism. What a better place to recruit and retain SHIELD agents than the place where Captain America was trained?”

“Virginia or New Jersey?” Romanov asked.

“I can check both,” Falsworth-Crichton offered. “Going to need directions to both sites though.”

“Barnes and Barnes, go with her,” Stark ordered, pointing to Bucky's two counterparts.

James gave Stark an utterly confused look, while Barnes just merely tapped the dog tags hanging around his neck twice to activate the metallic stars-and-stripes armor. Even before the armor fully formed around him, Bucky saw him take the shield and slot it into a hook piece on his back – the action familiar to what he had seen Steve do countless of times before. Falsworth-Crichton had also stood up and made her way to Barnes, her own yellow armor with the red mask activating and bleeding across and over her clothes.

“It's your idea,” Stark stated, giving James a pointed look.

Despite not being in the line of verbal fire, Bucky could not help but bristle ever so slightly at Stark's tone, which was creeping back into arrogance. On the other hand, his counterpart answered that look by simply standing up and going over to accept the sidearm and small, button-like device from their mutual counterpart. Something clear washed over James when Bucky saw him tap on the device.

“So how are we—” James began, his voice muffled slightly by whatever was enveloping him. The intelligence officer didn't get to finish his question, as not a moment later, the three were suddenly whisked out of the meeting room. Only a blast of displaced air was trailing in their wake.

“Wow,” Bucky heard Steve exclaim in the silence, and glanced over to see him blinking in mild surprise. “She's a speedster.”

“Jackie used to be as fast as the mutant known as Quicksilver, or rather, Pietro Maximoff,” Stark stated, though Bucky noticed that he was not directly answering or looking at Steve, but rather at Steve's counterpart. “Circumstances throughout the decade had changed her speed and other abilities, but she's still fast enough to pull this off. She'll make sure to bring both of them back safe.”

“Mutant?” Steve questioned, while Stevie nodded to Stark's words. “That sounds a little insulting.”

“And that's a can of worms neither of you don't want to continue to open, Rogers,” Stark stated in a simple tone, though the warning was clear.

The wait for Falsworth-Crichton and the others to return was not long. The woman arrived in another powerful blast of air, but only James was with her. She let him go, and sped off again, just as James stumbled slightly dissolving the clear armor or whatever it was, over him. Bucky noticed that his counterpart was not carrying their mutual counterpart's sidearm. The speedster also did not immediately return.

“Bucky!” he heard Stevie say, worry lacing her tone, as she got up.

“James,” Steve said at almost the same time, concerned.

“I'm fine. I'm fine,” Bucky heard his counterpart state, waving for Stevie to not worry over him. “Just... just not used to that. Feel kind of sick.”

“It'll pass, Captain,” Stark stated, but offered no other words than the obvious.

“Yeah,” came the faint answer. A few moments later, James seemed to recover from feeling ill and said, “New Jersey. Rutgers.”

“Fucking hell,” Stark muttered, but didn't look angry at the news. “Wilson, you son-of-a-bitch. You got eyes and ears into the university system.”

James did not take a seat though, and continued to say, “You're not going to like who's leading them though.” He paused for a moment, before saying, “But I think you've already had an idea as to who might be leading them, Stark.”

“That your gut, or observations, Captain?” Stark asked.

“My counterpart's, actually,” Bucky heard him state. “It's why Ms. Falsworth-Crichton is there again, to make sure that my counterpart and their leader aren't going to kill each other.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what you spy peoples are talking about half the time,” Stark stated, partially throwing up his hands in defeat. “So who is their leader now?”

“The LMD that looks like Peggy Carter. She has the blueprints. And Stark... she's proposing an alliance.”

If it could get any more silent in the room, it tried to. Bucky was slightly glad that he was not the only one who was not hiding the fact that there was something incredibly suspicious about the offer. There was nothing on his counterpart's expression to give away what he felt about the proposal for an alliance though; it was all a mask of professionalism.

“He's telling the truth, Stark,” Murdock quietly spoke up.

Before anyone else could say a word, a burst of air was displaced again, as Falsworth-Crichton appeared again. There wasn't a disheveled appearance about her, but she did ask, “Any answer? They're kind of getting antsy there. Bucky's getting twitchy, but no one's been hurt yet. I think Daisy Johnson's threat of vibrating both him and the LMD into atoms is keeping the peace for now.”

“I thought Johnson couldn't use her powers anymore?” Stark questioned, looking surprised at the news.

“The threat seems real enough, Tony,” Falsworth-Crichton stated.

“The LMD has seen two versions of us, Stark,” James spoke up. “She recognized me, so it stands to say that she knows that a few members of the Skerry strike team are here in this reality.”

“You know that Wilson, Johnson, and their cohort could have ratted us out already. The fact that they trust this LMD that has the blueprints even after what happened to Wilson says something,” Falsworth-Crichton added.

Bucky saw Stark's lips thin in anger, but also bow his head slightly in consideration. There was always the option to go in guns blazing and attack the base, but considering that even though the groups were splintered, the Red Skull was ready to pick all of them off. If the whispers of dissent in the streets were anything to go by, they needed a united front. It had to happen, even with all of the deaths that had happened in the past ten years at the hands of the Red Skull and his agents.

“All right,” Stark said at last, getting up and going over to a corner where there were shelves of various items lined up in neat rows and columns. “Encrypted line. I don't think I have to tell either of you to stay silent, Jackie, but I'm going to do so anyways. I never liked how Director Johnson operated SHIELD for the brief time it existed after the Red Skull moved onto the Presidency, even when Maria was there to second her. The fact that she trusts this LMD is...”

Stark paused and shook his head, before saying, “Just give me three minutes to set it all up before you activate it for her.”

“Will do,” Falsworth-Crichton answered, taking the items that Stark handed to her before dashing off again.

“Daisy Johnson was SHIELD's Director here?”

Romanov had asked that question as Stark took another set of items and moved to the far end of the table where Steve and Stevie had been sitting. Bucky saw him drag one of the empty chairs over to set it at the end of the table, before arranging the items on the seat. He could only guess that it was a projector of sorts, designed to give the false impression that a holographic image or something was sitting on the chair.

“Yes,” Stark stated in a short tone. “Her unsanctioned hit jobs on several of the Skull's allies was part of the reason why the Skull declared an all out purge on all superheroes.”

Bucky saw concern in not only Steve's eyes, but also in Romanov's and Stevie's eyes in response to that statement. Given the sometimes cheerful, other times good moral compass disposition that he remembered the other reality's Daisy Johnson displaying, it was a little difficult to reconcile what he knew of Daisy Johnson with what Stark had just stated. He thought that she was more of a hothead than he had been before he had gone off to war.

He couldn't quite see Johnson showing such amoral tendencies. However, it was the fact that his counterpart had not even shown any reaction to what was said about Johnson that gave pause in his assessment. James was the one who recruited, trained, and promoted Johnson to where she was now – in Strike Alpha. Bucky knew from his first excursion into that other reality that Strike Alpha was the team that worked closely with the Director of SHIELD. It wouldn't be difficult for a member of that team to head up the Director position, should the current Director step down or die.

“Barnes,” Stark said, tapping Bucky's chair. “Stand outside. Don't worry, you'll still be able to hear the discussion.”

“Wait a minute, Tony,” Steve protested, as Bucky considered what Stark had stated, and briefly thought back to just how this Tony Stark behaved. “You can't just—”

“Skerry strike team, right, other-Barnes?” Tony said, cutting off whatever else Steve was about to say.

“Right,” James answered, nodding once.

It was those words, and his hearkening back to what exactly his counterpart had stated just a few minutes ago about being recognized, that Bucky understood what exactly was happening. He got up, briefly laying a hand on Steve's right shoulder in reassurance, before continuing on. He passed his counterpart, who had taken a seat next to Stevie again, and stepped out. Closing the Faraday cage door, he made sure he stepped to the adjacent wall next to the door, out of sight for everyone else within the room, but within view of Stark.

For a man who claimed to not understand what his spies and other spies were talking about, Bucky had to give this Tony Stark credit where it was due. Ten years of being a commander of spies, assassins, and what was left of the fractured 'superheros' that existed, along with experience in cutthroat corporate warfare in this reality, had molded Stark to become a spymaster. While not perfect, nor as clean as he remembered his Soviet handlers – or his reality's HYDRA for the matter – to be, it seemed that it was just enough to survive the game of chess being played with against the Red Skull.

“Anthony Stark,” the voice of Peggy Carter stated bluntly a few moments later.

Bucky could imagine everyone else squaring their expressions to neutral – or as neutral as possible. He glanced down at his folded hands resting in front of him; he couldn't be there for Steve right now. As much as he cherished the fact that their bonds had been rewoven stronger since that night, Peggy Carter was a constant in both of their lives, more so Steve's than his.

She had been and still was Steve's true north star, even if Steve didn't think so anymore. He just did not have the heart to tell him that, and he didn't know why. He had never been jealous of Peggy and the fact that Steve loved her in a way that he knew that was different from what they shared.

It certainly wasn't because of their promise to each other: to be with each other, until the end of the line. He just didn't know why he had accepted that Steve saw him as his north star, other than satisfying the long-put aside hopes and dreams that he knew he would never have. He just knew that he could not remain as Steve's north star, no matter how much he wanted to live up to the ideals that Steve saw in him.

_You defend the innocent, speak for those oppressed, those who need help, and those who can't fight. You are a winter soldier who is ever vigilant in his defense of life and liberty. You are not a weapon._

Bucky blinked, bringing himself out of his brief musing as Steve's words to him over a year ago before the assault on the silo faded from his ears. He glanced over towards Stark out of the corner of his eyes, hearing him say “...proposal is to have Captain America and I call out the Skull from his hidey hole using this Cube that we have here. Everyone else here, and any heavy-hitters with powers in your group will be waiting for the facility to rise up, and will be the forward assault. While we're distracting him and his forces, I'll have Captain Barnes here go with whatever strike team you have into an alternate way. Providing that the Skull has contingency exit and entrance areas in the facility.”

“He does,” the LMD answered. “Why Captain Barnes?”

“You've seen the monsters the Skull keeps, Carter. Powered or enhanced individuals stand a better chance of surviving against those things,” Stark fired back.

“Or there's still mistrust I hear in your voice, Stark,” the LMD answered. “Your hypocritical words betray you, Stark. You might want to put this Captain America standing here next to my agents, on the infiltration team as well, since he is neither a powered or enhanced individual.”

“You really don't remember that he kicked your ass six ways to Sunday in Latveria?” Stark asked, but it sounded more like a factual statement than a question.

Bucky almost rolled his eyes at the childishness of the taunt. He could almost imagine Steve and Steve's counterpart both looking exasperated at what was just said. He could also imagine that the negotiations that seemed to be going fairly well, were now skidding rapidly downhill into ruin.

“The better to keep an eye on your schemes, Stark,” was all that the LMD stated in a surprising turn of events.

“Or that,” the inventor agreed. “Captain America stays with my team – all three of them. Your people will be under my command for the forward assault. It goes both ways, this mistrust thing, Carter.”

“Fine,” the LMD answered after a few moments. “I will be picking the team myself, Stark. I will also be going with the team, so arm Captain Barnes appropriately to handle the Cubes. We'll get them somewhere safe enough to detonate.”

“And where will that be?” Stark asked, though it sounded more like a demand than anything else.

“Somewhere safe enough to detonate,” the LMD repeated.

“All right,” Stark answered a few seconds later. “Let's see the blueprints.”

There was a moment's pause, and the reflection of the light on Stark's face seemed to get a little brighter. Bucky could only assume that the blueprints were being shown through the transmission. “Goddamn it,” he heard Stark mutter. “It's a fucking fortress.”

As much as he wanted to see what the blueprints were, he kept himself still and remained where he was. He was sure that there was some way that the blueprints were being captured by Stark, as he heard the LMD say, “This route here, here, and here, are the only ones that can be climbed without heavy or an extensive amount of equipment. If you're going to assault the front doors of the facility, I'd suggest that you position your forces here and here. Splitting them will ensure that any that try to ambush from the back won't discover us or surround you.”

“What about inside. What's it like?”

“A maze. The Skull keeps the device in the central core, but the corridors leading to it rotate on an asymmetrical schedule. My parameters have not been synced to the core commands since my departure. I'll sync up, once we get in,” the LMD stated.

The fact that those unusual words were issuing out of the LMD hammered home the fact that even with her voice sounding exactly like the memories he had of Peggy Carter, she was not _Peggy Carter_. Bucky felt that it was easy for him to easily differentiate between the two, but he hoped that Steve was able to, now that he had heard the words.

“We'll need time to process these blueprints, Carter,” Stark stated after a few moments. “But I've also come across recent information that the Skull is planning to implement martial law in the region in two days. It's going to be hard to move stuff around or coordinate after that. We need to strike before that takes effect.”

“Agreed,” the LMD said. “Before dawn, in two days? I can have my people here move the necessary equipment up, and ready themselves in that time frame. They can use the fact that the Skull will be moving his own forces and equipment around as cover.”

“I don't like it, but it's the best we can do,” Stark agreed. “I'd rather not keep any active lines open until the op begins, so Jackie will be the runner for messages between us.”

“Understood, Director Stark,” the LMD answered. “Good hunting to your people.”

“To yours as well, Director Carter,” Bucky heard Stark state as he saw a humorless smile briefly appear on his face.

The light in the room seemed to fade slightly as the transmission cut out. Before Bucky could even place his hand on the door to open it again, Stark had already held a hand out for a moment, indicating for him to not enter just yet. He saw the inventor reach over and drag Steve's sketch pad over. Out of somewhere, a pen appeared in Stark's hand as he saw him flip to a blank page and write something down. Stark then silently held it up to the others, before Bucky caught a glimpse of what was written down:

[ _Do you have all of the blueprints memorized?_ ]

A whoosh of displaced air signaled the return of Falsworth-Crichton and his counterpart. However, Bucky silently held up a hand for the two to wait and not enter the room as he saw Stark place the sketchpad down and tap a few things on his side of the table. An ear-piercing whine shattered the air, causing not only Bucky, but everyone else to wince. It lasted a full five seconds before it abruptly stopped, leaving a faint ringing noise in his ears.

Stark then waved the three of them in, while busily typing a few things on a projected keyboard. “As soon as I get the OS rebuilt, I need you guys to redraw all of the blueprints,” Bucky heard the inventor state as he, along with the other two entered and took their seats.

“Did she or her agents try to bug the two of you?” Stark asked, glancing over towards Barnes and Falsworth-Crichton for a brief moment. It need not be stated, as Bucky understood that Stark had wiped the entire system within the table, in a effort to make sure that the LMD did not leave any unpleasant electronic surprises behind.

“Tried,” Barnes stated, as multiple projections of blank, semi-transparent hard-light screens suddenly popped up on the table, brightening the room quite a bit. “Best effort for her agents though. They're a little out of practice.”

As Steve and Steve's counterpart dove into recreating the blueprints from scratch, with Romanov helping them, Murdock and Falsworth-Crichton seemed to huddle into their own little group to discuss something. To Bucky, it looked more as if Falsworth-Crichton was repopulating the databases of intelligence reports and the like, with Murdock supplementing by verbal report. Bucky decided to focus his attention on the rebuild of the blueprints, finding it more interesting than whatever else the others were doing.

A faint _ping_ noise issued up from where he had rested his right hand on the table. He glanced down to see a tiny blinking cursor beneath his hand. No one else had such a thing in their areas around the table. The system was wiped, but he wasn't sure where exactly the message had come from. He looked over to see that Steve was completely occupied in recreating the blueprints.

Curiosity got the better of him and he tapped the cursor. It resolved into a single lined message that read: [ _You heard where the device is probably is. The girl is most likely near the central core, so find a way in while they're rebuilding the blueprints. --TS_ ]

“So why me, Stark?” James suddenly asked before Bucky could verbally ask why Stark didn't want to tell anyone else about the plan to rescue Caroline Rogers. “Playing hostage to a turncoat LMD isn't my idea of fighting.”

“Well, I was telling her the truth about powered and enhanced individuals, Barnes. From what was recorded in those dog tags, I also remember hearing you say to your Director Carter that you're capable of assassinating Carter without remorse. So that's why you're going with the LMD's team.”

“Then you should also remember that I said that as well, Stark,” Romanov spoke up.

“I'm not completely sure that the Cube will be enough to dislodge the Skull's hold,” Stark answered after a moment, pausing in whatever he was typing on his side of the table. “I need every single person who has worked closely with Steve Rogers before, in the forward assault, even if you're from another reality. Most of those people he knew were either associated with the Avengers or Invaders.”

“Psychological warfare,” Romanov answered, nodding in approval. “How... Nick Fury of you.”

It seemed that there was no argument to the plan laid out, as they all worked in silence for the next few minutes. As the blueprints climbed and started to resemble a highly fortified and maze-like fortress, it was Stevie who broke the silence, asking, “I'm going to make one tweak to the assault plan, Tony.”

“What tweak?” Stark asked, pausing once again in his typing.

“If we divert and assault this area once we make it past the first entrance, I think I'll have the opportunity to slip away and get up to the central core area,” she answered, pointing to an area within the base of the facility, before dragging a winding path up to the central core. “You didn't mention my daughter during the briefing to the LMD, but I think its safe to know that while she was in my reality, she discovered the existence of my daughter. It's the only explanation that I can come up with as to how she passed on the information to the Red Skull after escaping the Skerry.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?” Stark asked, though the saying was not made in jest at all.

“She failed to bring him the Cube,” Stevie answered. “Caroline's abduction was not enough to placate him, so yeah. She knows Caroline is somewhere there, and she didn't say a word. I don't know what her plans are for her to get further revenge on the Skull, but I don't want my daughter anywhere near that. I'm going after my daughter.”

Stark was surprisingly silent for a long few moments, a contemplative look on his face. Just as Bucky was going to volunteer the fact Stark had assigned him to go after the girl, Stark scrubbed his face with his hands for a brief moment before saying, “I was going to try to compartmentalize this, but I should have asked instead. You have a right to decide what to do, and it's not my order to give. Sorry.”

Bucky glanced down at the table for a moment, deleting the message with a tap of his finger on the table. He looked back up to see Steve with an understanding look on his face, directed towards Stark, while Stevie was merely waiting for the inventor to continue. As for the others, they had various expressions that ranged from patience to slight surprise at Stark's admission. While he knew little of the man in his reality, he knew enough about Stark in general to understand that it was very unlike Stark's ego to ever admit fault. It seemed that the same could be said of this Tony Stark.

“Given what I've seen in the body camera footage, I was counting on the fact the LMD did not know that Sergeant Barnes existed,” Stark said, gesturing to him. “I was going to send him in via an alternate route to secure your daughter, but like I said, I don't have that right to give the order.”

“Is that why you had him leave the room, Tony?” Steve asked.

“Yes.”

That was the simple answer, but Bucky knew that there was more to that answer than he thought Stark was willing to admit. The words about mistrust between the two groups were there, but it seemed that the inventor and leader of this particular group of people did not trust the team that Sam Wilson ran with. This alliance was only an alliance of circumstances, and Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to stick around this reality to see the consequences of when that alliance dissolved – after they had secured the reality device.

“Can you do it, Bucky? Will you go rescue Caroline?”

The question contained none of the earnestness that he was used to hearing from Steve or Steve's counterpart. On the surface, it was simple to answer in the same manner, much like Stark had answered Steve's question, but Bucky could hear the loaded implications underneath it. The unstated concern from Stevie – and Steve for the matter – that he could easily fall back into the storm of memories that threatened to overwhelm him was there. As was the fact that he most likely had traumatized the poor girl over a year ago, fighting Dottie Underwood – that he could possibly traumatize Caroline again.

They were valid points, valid concerns, and he heard them not from Stephanie Rogers, Captain America, but from a mother whose sole concern was her daughter. Bucky could not stare down at the table like he wanted to. He had to force himself to look up into two pairs of blue-green eyes, and tell both Steve and Stevie that he was able to carry out this mission. Given the layout of the facility, the things they had fought against in the other reality, it was clear that the frontal assault team _needed_ as many powered individuals as possible to keep the Red Skull occupied.

His mission was going to be fraught with the fact that he could possibly face resistance inside of the facility, but it was going to be less than what those outside were facing. The whispers would most likely not be hounding him as insistently as they had before. If he got in and out with the girl as fast as he could, there was hope that he could avoid falling into the storm as he had done in the silo.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Bucky took a deep mental breath and forcefully stilled his racing thoughts. “I'll get her out,” he stated a few moments later in a firm tone.

* * *

_Two days later..._

 

Nerves.

It wasn't a constant twitching, impatient jangle of his right or left leg against the floor of the ancient quinjet. Nor was it a repeated tapping chord of his fingers against the side of his head, as he sat hunched over on the jump seat and breathing into the oxygen mask.

It was the strangely twisting sensation fluttering up in his stomach – the one that Bucky had not felt since his first jump out of an airplane. The last time he had been up this high was to shoot at enemies on the ground. The time before that had been when he watched Steve and the others jump out from almost as high as he now was, barreling down into the UAE.

Bucky knew that he needed to stay frosty, to stay wired and tight, but he could not calm his nerves down – at least not for the moment. He wanted to laugh at himself, derisively and in hilarity at the same time: James Buchanan Barnes, former Soviet asset known as the Winter Soldier, jump-qualified Army grunt, and Howling Commando sniper who had faced down so many enemies during the war, was _nervous_ about an upcoming jump.

Yet, no such sound issued out of his mouth as he glanced up, hearing the others declare their readiness in the main com line that connected the group together. The primary frequency in the com line for their group had been merged with what the LMD's group was using. However, his primary line was not tuned to that line, nor was it attuned to the encrypted line that Stark had set up between those not led by the LMD. Instead, he was listening through a third line; one that Barnes had set up between the three of them – the three James Barnes of three different realities.

He had no reason to speak into the line, at least not yet, but he could clearly imagine what was happening down there, based on what he was hearing from the other frequencies. Steve, Romanov, and the others were already in position, as the forward assault team. James, along with the LMD and SHIELD team were the infiltration team, and were also in position. It was now up to Stark and Barnes to call out the Red Skull, and it did not take much to do so.

“We've got movement, Tony,” Steve's crisp, calm voice sounded over the main line a few moments later.

Bucky didn't really know if it was Steve's voice, or the fact that the mission was now green and active, that suddenly erased all of the strange nervousness he felt. It was as if the metal walls within his mind had slid shut, almost compartmentalizing areas that didn't need to bleed into his consciousness to distract him. All except for one small sliver that still would not close against the storm...

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

He stood up, taking another deep breath.

“ _I'll always be here, Buck.”_

_He silently nodded, or as much as the movement would be allowed, given that their foreheads were touching. Steve had his right hand cupped partially against the back of his neck, and had leaned both his own head and Bucky's own forward so that their foreheads were touching. Yet, Bucky was not looking into those endless blue-green eyes of his best friend, and had cast his gaze down. It was not fear that caused him to do that, but knowing that even as strong as Steve was, these were his, Bucky's, own demons to deal with._

_They both knew that this battle, that this fight that they were about to metaphorically and literally jump into, could fundamentally change both of them again. This was going to be worse than fighting Stark at the silo, fighting the five Winter Soldiers, and fighting the bio-mechanical invaders._

“ _You need help, you call out, Bucky. It doesn't matter if I'm in the middle of giving orders, fighting a fifty-foot whatever mechanical beast, or giant squid monsters – you call out. I'll be there.”_

_Bucky couldn't help the bitter smile that crept up his lips, but he nodded. There was no room for pride anymore, not for him. He knew that Steve knew that with his slippery control over his memories, he could very well become a threat as great as the Red Skull._

“ _Stop me, please?” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, as he drew a ragged breath in._

_He felt Steve's hand against his neck slide slightly forward so that Steve's palm was resting against his cheek. “No. I'm going to save you. I promise.”_

He blinked away the sudden, unexpected tears that briefly welled up in his eyes.

_...you shaped the century..._

Bucky went over to panel near the door that separated the cargo hold and the cockpit. He flicked a switch on the panel up. In response, the signal light in the cargo hold in this ancient quinjet flicked from red to blue. Two minutes until full depressurization. He took another deep breath in the full oxygen mask that he wore and did a final check on all of his gear, including his chute straps.

At the two minute mark, the cargo hold began to creep open. He let it reach its apex before taking off at a light jog and leapt out of the aircraft. Strong winds buffeted him as he briefly held his arms and legs out in a starfish-like maneuver before bringing his limbs to snap up into as thin of a profile as he could manage.

Rocketing towards the inky black waters of Upper Bay wasn't quite the word that he would have used to describe just how fast he was going. A thrill of fear, mixed in with pure excitement tamped down on the whispers leaking from the tiny sieve in his mind. As the lights of the city started to become larger, and explosions peppered the air with their light pops, he continued to hold his position.

The HUD on his glasses – courtesy of Stark, of course – gave him the estimated distance to the top of the facility. The numbers scrolled down quickly, even though the free fall seemed so long, compared to what he could begin to see being resolved on the ground level of the underwater facility that had risen. In the darkness, and at the speed he was flying into the facility at, he could barely make out the glint of metal on metal – flecks really, of Steve's shield, along with the other two shields driving their way into the horde of bio-mechanical nightmares pouring out.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

At a little less than 600 meters, he popped the chute open, feeling his harness dig into him, and partially arrested his free fall. He snapped the chute off of his back with a quick application of his shoulder-sheathed combat knife at about eight meters from his LZ, and slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force. At the same time, a tremendous explosion shuddered through the facility, caused by Stark unleashing a flurry of missiles from all ports within his suit.

Pausing to let his body absorb the impact was not an option though, as he quickly shed the remains of the chute harness, and ripped the vent away with his left hand. Quickly climbing inside, he began to scrabble down and into the facility. The howls, explosions, and noise of those fighting outside of the facility's echoes chased after him.

The noise was soon silenced as he reached the end of the vent, and peered out. The two halls that he could see were completely empty, but rather than being a dark, mysterious place, the area was lit up quite harshly. Bright white walls, flooring, and ceiling shone through, accented only by the lines of black running parallel to the main thoroughfare of white. It delineated what was the floor and ceiling, and he was about to shimmy out onto the floor.

Upside down.

Disorientation aside, Bucky could not hear anyone traveling up or down the halls, and applied only enough force with his left arm to pop the vent out. Hauling himself out, he quietly placed the vent back, lightly punching it into position before pressing himself against the wall, feeling his sniper rifle dig into his back as he continued to listen. He only had his knives, his sidearm, and sniper rifle with him. The rifle and its clips he had brought with him had been given to the cause. His HUD was telling him that there were wiring everywhere, but nothing that constituted as cameras or surveillance materials.

He double tapped the right corner of his glasses' frame, sending a green light winking across the private line to his two counterparts. Moments later, he received a green light of acknowledgment from Barnes, and a burning amber light from James. Bucky could only interpret that to mean that meant that James and the LMD team were running into snags in the alternate infiltration mission. It still did not change his mission and target, but he knew that he would have to possibly implement the contingency plan if that amber light turned red.

_...you shaped the century..._

The whisper-quiet noise of the fight outside could barely be heard by him as Bucky carefully made his way down the hall to his right. He had already memorized the entire layout of the facility from the blueprints. When he had passed a gravitational reorientation device or something that was mirrored from what the facility truly was, was puzzling. However, his gut was telling him that he needed to take every opposite route that he had original planned to get to his target.

Bucky's quick footsteps made absolutely no noise on the plastic-metal fusion floor, as he crept along corridors. He paused every so often to listen and make sure that he was not being followed, or was not going to run into anyone. Speed and stealth for his mission were essential, and within a few minutes, he had finally wound his way to the central core, running into absolutely no one.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

It seemed as if the Skull had sent every single person who worked in the facility out to fight against Steve and the others. But he knew that that was a deceptive move – the people were here somewhere, it was just the _where_ he was concerned with. There was no easy path out of the facility, and he knew how Steve would have fortified this place against an invasion. The Skull would have most likely taken advantage of that knowledge with Steve's counterpart here.

Silently vaulting himself over the rails of the outer platforms of the central core, he hung onto the railing for a moment before letting go. The snatch and grab of the next level was noisier than he liked, but it was better than climbing down the spiraling metal steps of the actual core itself, completely exposed to the corridors that ran concentrically in the entire area. There was still no sign of life, and he performed the maneuver twice more before swinging himself onto the floor that he needed to be on.

Rolling up and pressing himself against the corner of the new floor's immediately intersection, he waited a few seconds, heard nothing, and slipped out. Hurrying down the corridor, he took a right, then a left, and another long run down another corridor before another left brought him to his destination. He didn't need to peek out to see that he was where he had guessed per whatever strange gravitational reorientation had made the blueprints upside down from actuality.

The murmurs of the many guards that lined the hall adjacent to his left, where he was pressed up again, told him that this was his destination. It also told him that the Skull had already anticipated that someone would figure out part or all of his plans and attempt to remove components. Said component that his mission target was, was down that dead-end corridor, beyond the six... no seven guards that stood in his way.

_...you shaped the century..._

Bucky silently took a deep breath. There was no way around it – the noise would be great enough to attract attention no matter if he used his sidearm or attempted hand-to-hand. Considering the possibility of more showing up, his initial method would have to be hand-to-hand. He didn't know how many more would be appearing, or how fast they would get to this section of the facility.

He didn't quite dash out, but rather leapt with one enormous push off of his legs, arms outstretched. Reaching the first two guards in a violent embracing crash, he immediately wrapped both arms around their necks and wrenched them to the side with a quick _pop!_ The bodies were already dropping to the ground, and the remaining guards just beginning to react as he continued to move forward, his momentum never slowing.

The third guard hadn't even fully turned to realize the incoming threat, when Bucky already reached him and simply wrenched the seven-shot revolver from the guard's hand. He quickly cocked the hammer and fired down into the guard's leg, which was not covered by body armor. The screams of the guard didn't even last a half-second as he already cocked the hammer back yet again, and finished the guard off with a shot to the head.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Blood and bits splattered onto him and across the floor, but he was still moving forward. The fourth guard had his shotgun already partially raised up by the time Bucky cocked the hammer back, firing up and diagonally through the guard's jaw. Another rapid cock back and firing again at nearly the same spot made sure that the guard was most definitely dead. The fifth, sixth, and seventh guards went down just as quickly as their compatriots, all with single shots into their uncovered noses and mouths.

Discarding the empty revolver, he stalked forward to the end of the corridor. He saw brain matter and chipped flecks of white bone covered in blood sticking to the semi-transparent lattice of energy that covered the cell, almost obscuring the target within the cell. There was no part of him that allowed the guilt he knew that he should have felt through though – he had to dispatch the rest of the guards in the fastest way possible.

“Stand back,” he curtly ordered the target within, who was staring at him, and at what laid before her beyond her cell, with a pole-axed expression on her face.

It took Caroline a moment to comply with his order, but in that time, Bucky had already found the weak spot to the cell, courtesy of his HUD within his lenses. Drawing his left arm back, he punched the lower right corner of the cell, once-twice-three times, until it sparked and fizzled. The energy lattice grew bright for a moment with the surge, but then suddenly shut down.

Strangely, there was no screech of alarms, or even flashing lights, as the young teenager scrambled out of her cell. To his slight surprise though, she did not try to step away from him, even when he knew he was partially covered in blood. She was dressed in white scrubs, barefooted, and looking slightly malnourished. Bucky had nothing to give her though, and he was not about to waste time picking through the dead bodies to clothe her – they had to leave before reinforcements could arrive.

_...you shaped the century..._

“Eyes forward,” he stated, reaching out with his flesh hand and made sure that he gently turned her head away from the bodies.

She silently nodded at him, fear mixing in with shock in her blue-green eyes. In that brief moment that he held her gaze, it was enough to _see_ Steve through her, and temporarily drive away the menacing, sinister whispers clawing at him. That moment passed quickly though, as the storm within him seemed to roar back through the thin slivered sieve with a vengeance.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Even as he dropped his hand away and began to move forward and back down the corridor, he knew that she was not obeying his order at all. Still, he made sure that she was walking close to him, taking her right hand within his own right hand and pulling her slightly to the back of him. His left arm was raised, holding his sidearm up in front of both of them, leading the way.

Two steps before they got to the threshold of the corridor, that was when the silent security system was triggered. Thick rods shot across the threshold, leaving only a ten centimeter gap between each rod. Yet, rather than close them within the cell area, one of the bodies of the guards that Bucky had snapped the neck of, had managed to stop three of the rods near the ground, from closing them in.

“Go!” he said, flinging her forward so that she could crawl through, using her lanky, rail-thin size to squeeze through the space.

As soon as she got through, he holstered his sidearm and dragged two of the other dead bodies to where the other dead body was. Using as much force as possible, he shoved and forced the bodies to lay parallel to each other, opening the space even further. Though he was well aware that he was continuing to traumatize the poor girl, he could not think or worry about that – their priority to get out of the facility was greater than her – or his, for the matter – mental health.

With just enough space to squeeze through made, he slung his sniper rifle off of his back and tossed that through first, before unholstering his sidearm and shoved that through as well. Pushing with all of his strength back at the rods, he then squeezed through the space. Either the girl was still too terrified, or somewhat understood the situation; she didn't touch his weapons as he picked them back up. He slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder, and kept the Glock in front again, this time, in his right hand.

_...you shaped the century..._

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

The whispers of incoming footsteps belonging to whatever security the Skull had in this facility still did not echo down the corridors. Bucky could not help but frown slightly as he went forward, with Caroline following behind him again without having him take her by the hand. It became apparent as to why it seemed that the Skull had sent almost every person in the facility topside – those same thick rods bisected the hall to his right. He could only assume that beyond that and along the way back to an alternate escape vent, were other similarly blocked corridors.

“Fucking rats in a maze,” he heard Caroline softly swear.

“Language,” he muttered, as he had not expected her to have _that_ filthy of a mouth for a child of her age.

“You're not my father,” she whispered her retort.

No more was said, as Bucky turned to the left, hating the fact that they were being herded like... well, like rats in a maze. His steps down this part of the corridor were cautious, but swift. He listened carefully, tuning out the slightly harsh breathing of Caroline, along with her not-as-silent footsteps. He knew that she was trying to mimic his actions, his quietness, but wasn't quite getting the technique correct.

The corridor was long, and at each intersection, more thick rods blocked their way. They were forced to turn right after seven intersections from where they had started. This one was shorter, but no less eerily quite. Bucky could hear the faint cacophony of the battle going on outside through his earpiece, as he saw a flash of red light wink on the upper corner of his HUD from James. That meant that the LMD team could not make it through to their objective.

His unease was growing, as he and Caroline traveled down the silent maze within the facility. Though he wanted to wink green to let his counterparts – especially James – know that he had Caroline with him, he didn't. Instead, he tapped and held his finger on the right corner of his glasses' frames, sending the burning amber light through. What returned to both him and James was a double amber acknowledgment – the frontal assault team was stuck as well.

_...you shaped the century..._

Bucky didn't have time to think about contingencies or otherwise, as the corridor abruptly ended with their emergence into a cavernous area that overlooked an incredibly deep sinkhole about two hundred meters in width. Shoved to one side of the fifty-meter ledge were various apparatuses and what looked like scrap metal. On the other side was what looked like a cargo elevator big enough to hold at least a platoon of soldiers.

It was the central area, a platform extending a few meters out from the lip of the ledge and overlooking into the sinkhole, that captured most of his attention. Six glowing cubes of varying shades of color, some bleeding into different colors, while others stayed relatively the same, sat within a container strapped to what looked like a wildly oversized rifle. The reality portal device was mounted on a gimbal, but had several hoses attached to the sides of it. Said hoses led back to the ledge, where there was a cylinder that looked similar to the cryo-tube, and could fit a person in it. Whatever it was, it was clear to him that Caroline would have had been shoved into that tube.

There was not one other soul in the area, and not one of the assault teams had made it to this place, yet. Bucky knew that this was probably the only chance that they would get to make sure the Skull did not win. He could not just leave the apparatuses, Cubes, and everything else here as-is.

“Help me detach the hoses,” he ordered, holstering his sidearm and quickly approached the tube.

_...your work has been a gift to mankind..._

Bucky gritted his teeth as the menacing whispers seemed to increase in volume within his mind, but dared not show any discomfort as the teenager silently obeyed his orders. Together, they quickly unscrewed and tried to break the hoses from the cylinder. While it would have been more prudent to punch some bullets into the apparatus, his HUD had given him the basic analysis that the materials that surrounded the tube was laced with vibranium. It was nearly bulletproof towards conventional weapons.

Neither of them got very far in removing a fair portion of the hoses, when Bucky heard the tell-tale whisper of the elevator doors sliding open. His instincts were already screaming at him—

_...you shaped the century..._

_...and I need you to do it one more time..._

Reaching out and forward, the Winter Soldier coolly and calmly arrested the silver disc that had been painted in a concentric red-white-blue circle motif with a bright white star in the center. His metal arm didn't even vibrate one bit with the force of the impact. His memories told him that this had happened before. The only difference was that the target in front of him was not the target he had hunted before. The man in the bright red-white-blue uniform, with sandy blond hair cropped into a buzz cut, and a menacing, vicious smile framed by a strong square jaw was an aberration in his memories

Eyes that were supposed to be blue-green in color, were blood red and promised a world of pain.

_Priority Target: the Red Skull._

_Situational Awareness: unacceptable collateral damage possible to a female civilian. Prioritize distance._

The Winter Soldier did not stay long in the arrested position, and immediately whirled towards his left, crushing a portion of the false shield that had been manufactured to look and feel like vibranium. The partially crushed shield flew from his hands and sunk into the cylinder with enough force to topple it over. He translated his momentum of that spin into a snap kick that flew and knocked aside the target's charging run at him. The force of the impact was enough to knock both of them aside, as the Winter Soldier landed lightly on his feet and pivoted.

The target was fast, red eyes menacing, knocking his sidearm out of his right hand. At the same time, he stepped into the target's attack, left metal fist striking flesh. The target's head snapped to the side for one moment, before a bloody, grimly crazed smile returned into his vision. The target muttered something in German, but if the target was hoping to affect him with those words, it didn't work.

Briefly grappling with the target, the Winter Soldier whirled his arms around, breaking the hold that the target had on him. He raised his metal arm, deflecting the target's lunging attack, while reaching up to his right to unsheathe the blade at his shoulder. The tip of the blade skittered across the chest of his target, too shallow as the target punched and knocked his right arm away.

An agonizing jolt of pain ran up and down his arm, as the Winter Soldier let go of the blade before his target could snap it from his wrist. The edge of his blade had dug in enough to snap the strap that held the sniper rifle against his back. It and the blade clattered to the ground, as he curled his metal hand around the fabric of the target's star-spangled uniform.

Forcing himself to push through the pain, he wrenched his right hand down, unbalancing the target just a hair. Grappling at the tips of the fabric with his fingers, he then shoved the target more off balance with all of his strength.

He followed up the brief opening with a quick leap up and kneed the target, to prevent him from bringing his own blade down. Dense forearm bones and muscles cracked against his knee, sending painful tremors through his legs. The target immediately retaliated by cartwheeling backwards, as the Winter Soldier snapped himself back to avoid the brunt of the double kick.

His glasses flew off as the tip of the target's boots scraped up the lenses. As he flipped backwards and landed solidly on his feet, pulling out two blades from their sheathes, he paused for a moment. His entire body was pulsating in more pain than he had ever felt before – not even when he had been nearly beaten by the five others he had trained.

“You're not the boy,” the target stated, his German accent thick and harsh against a voice that sounded as unfamiliar as it was familiar.

He narrowed his eyes. Answering was not an option – the target was a priority kill. Unexpectedly and faster than he anticipated, the female civilian leapt in between him and his target. She was brandishing his sidearm at the target. “And you're not Captain America, you sick son-of—” she stated, but never got to finish her taunt.

Just as the target lunged forward with the wild shot of the female civilian missing the target by a hair, the Winter Soldier threw both knives in his hands at the target. Forced to dodge one of the knives, the target allowed the other to be buried into the side of his arm. However, the Winter Soldier reached the civilian. He snatched her by her left shoulder with his flesh hand, and yanked her back.

She dropped the gun, her cry of surprise short-lived as he let her go and she tumbled to the ground. Snatching her up by a scrap of her clothing, he flung her far and away from him and the target. She skidded hard into the closed doors of the elevator, with the impact momentarily stunning her.

He barely brought his metal arm up in time to block the knife that had struck the target. The target had pulled it out of his arm in the midst of pivoting to fight against him again. The blood-covered blade chipped and shattered against the Winter Soldier's metal arm, but the target was faster in the follow up. Air was forced out of his lungs as he rolled partially forward in response to the fist burying into his stomach.

The Winter Soldier tried to turn it to his advantage and rammed his forehead into the target's face. He was not fast enough to completely have bone hit bone, as the target kicked his legs out from under him. With a two-handed grip on his metal arm, he felt himself being twisted into the target and towards the ground. He never hit it as blinding pain exploded against his chest – the overwhelming force of the target's kick against his chest and stomach nearly blacking him out.

In the haze of pain, he briefly felt himself flying backwards before crashing into the scrap heap of metal parts on the far side of the cavern. He had to get up, had to keep moving, as he rolled up, unwilling to give into the biting agony. The dagger in his boot came up with his left hand.

Forcing himself to take a few steps to clear the metal debris pile, he rapidly blinked away the rivulets of sweat and blood from his eyes, as he saw the target bearing down at him – fast. Even with his fists held up, the impact of his deflection at the haymaker punch the target unleashed at him reverberated up his metal arm and across his entire body.

He dropped the knife into his right hand and attempted to swipe up and into the folds of the star-spangled uniform. The tip of the blade barely pierced the cloth layer of the uniform before the target forcibly grabbed his wrists, wrenching his arms out to the side. He braced himself, applying all of his strength to keep his balance, trying to ignore the excruciating pain wracking his body.

The Winter Soldier and his target grappled for a few long moments, stumbling foot over foot as each tried to force the other to yield. It had to end, and the Winter Soldier knew that his strength was faltering.

Opening his right hand, the dagger dropped, but before the target could snatch at it, the Winter Soldier slid forward, unbalancing himself as he snapped kicked up. The tip of his right boot connected with the hilt end of the blade and drove the falling knife into the side of the target.

He expected the retaliatory attacked, expected the target to wrench him down, expected to be slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force, and expected the attempt to choke him. What the Winter Soldier did not expect was the blow to his chest – a fist driving into him that caused him to see white, and hear absolutely nothing for a few seconds. He tasted blood in his mouth, bubbling up and spilling over his lips in tiny rivulets as he desperately gasped for air that wouldn't come.

Paralysis gripped him for a moment before a distant noise that sounded like a scream jerked him back to awareness. Pure instinct had taken over as the Winter Soldier found himself staring at the wavering point of the dagger he had driven into the target's side. His hands were wrapped around the target's two-handed grip on the dagger. The whir of his metal arm was harsh against his ears, but being unable to draw enough breath with his collapsed lung was contributing to his rapidly faltering strength.

He couldn't—

~~~

The elevator doors silently slid open, revealing the brutally gruesome and vicious fight that had taken place. Steve and the others with him were already taking action, as they saw Bucky splayed on the ground, _struggling_ to keep the dagger from being plunged into his right eye by the Red Skull. However, before Steve could even lift his shield and throw it with all of his might at the Red Skull, another figure had emerged from the far right.

Clad in the all-black armor – sans the mask and glasses – and armed with a revolver in his gleaming silver metal hand, the reborn Winter Soldier of this reality fired at the Red Skull.

~~~

_Bang-bang-bang-bang!_

The pressure pinning him down immediately relented as the Winter Soldier felt and saw his target jerk and stumble back. The target was looking down at his stomach, seemingly bewildered as to why there was a growing pool of dark blood spreading from the three bullets that had been punched into his stomach. Yet, the target didn't even get to comprehend what had happened to him, as the Winter Soldier saw the target suddenly collapsed onto the ground, revealing that the fourth bullet had pierced the target's heart.

It would have been so simple to be finally over, but it never was. Just as a glassy, glazed look overtook the openly faraway gaze of the target, irises fading from red to blue-green, a screechy whir of a mechanical thing spooled up. The Winter Soldier took action, rolling up and lunging towards his sniper rifle. In one swift action that sent agonizing pain lancing across his body, he brought it up and pressed the scope to his eye, ignoring the blinding dizziness and flashes of black and red spots across his eyes.

_Heartbeat—fire._

The unmarked, modified sniper bullet flew towards its target, piercing directly into the center of the forehead of the robot that wore the Red Skull's face. The Winter Soldier watched as the mechanical biped tottered a few steps from the wreckage pile of scrap metal before collapsing into silence. He could hear no other sound within the cavernous area.

_...and I need you to do it one more time..._

The sniper rifle slipped from Bucky's fingers as his vision rapidly tilted to the side, just before the cold embrace of darkness enveloped him.

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who haven't read the comics: the conditions that Reborn Earth's Bucky was talking about in becoming Captain America the first time stemmed from the fact that he initially blamed Tony for Steve's death in the Civil War storyline. In the end, Bucky and Tony managed to work out a truce because of Steve's final letter to Tony. Steve's letter asked Tony to save Bucky for him, and to not let the Captain America symbol die. Tony asked Bucky to become Captain America, and Bucky agreed on two conditions: 1) remove all Winter Soldier control commands from his mind, and 2) be independently affiliated, meaning that he did not answer to Tony or anyone else as Captain America. Tony agreed to those two conditions.
> 
> For this fic, since the Reborn Reality goes AU from the comics during the Reborn storyline, as stated in previous chapters, Reborn Earth's Bucky walked away from being Captain America after killing Skadi/Syn. It's implied that he returned to being the Winter Soldier, initially working under SHIELD's command, and then eventually affiliated with Tony's command when shit hit the fan and they realized that Steve was possessed by the Red Skull. Hence his two different armored uniforms.


	19. Memory: The Paths We Take

_**Begin Memory: The Paths We Take** _

_Year:_ _Present, fragment complete_

_Time: Hours earlier, fragment complete_

_Location: Reborn Earth, fragment complete_

 

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Yes.”

As far as blunt questions and equally blunt answers went, it was mild between Bucky's two counterparts. There had been no hostility in the tone of the question, and there was an absolute tone in the answer. None of it was meant to inspire confidence, only to confirm what was already suspected – that this reality's James Buchanan Barnes was willing to kill the Red Skull, even if it meant killing Steve Rogers as well.

There were a multitude of reasons behind it, but Bucky suspected that chief among those reasons was _not_ to take revenge for friends and loved ones lost by the hand of the Red Skull and his allies. It was that even if a fragment, a ghost of Steve Rogers remained within the Skull, the man would most likely not be able to live with himself and what he had done.

Rogers would have been trapped there for over a decade, watching through the eyes and body not of his own performing heinous deeds. Bucky had seen and experienced enough of the similarities between his Steve and James's Stevie to safely extend and apply the same kind of personality overlay onto this reality's Steve Rogers.

He could also reasonably assume that possession by the Red Skull was definitely not the same as what he, along with James, and this reality's mutual counterpart of theirs had gone through as the Winter Soldier. Being puppeted, brainwashed, and erased over and over again by HYDRA had been hell enough for Bucky. He had the fortune of not being able to remember all the tiny details of what he had done during those days. Now, with it all coming back to him, he knew that he had to live with what he had done of his 'own' volition, even if they had been orders given by HYDRA and Soviet handlers.

He had chosen to carry out those orders.

Had it been Steve in his shoes as the Winter Soldier, Bucky knew that Steve's pure and good heart and sense of justice, would most likely have most likely never been able to live with himself and the destruction he had caused. As much as he lived with the guilt of what he had done as the Winter Soldier, Bucky could not imagine even living with himself if he had been puppeted by the Red Skull, and forced to sit along as merely a passenger watching the destruction. Thus, it made sense for him to assume that Rogers in this reality would definitely not be able to live with what he as the Red Skull, had done to the world.

“So how do we go about doing it?” he quietly asked.

“You're not; at least not initially,” Barnes answered, giving him a pointed look. “Neither are you; and you're definitely not killing the Red Skull.” That comment had been directed at James. “Skull's my responsibility, but regardless of that, there is a high chance that any one of us will run into him during the battle. You—” Bucky saw him point at him “—especially.”

Barnes gestured for the two of them to follow him into the run-down, abandoned-looking shipping container in what looked to be a dangerous area within the city. It was not actually a dangerous area – at least not to the standards he and his counterparts measured against – as it was located below the FDR, along South Street, and near the Manhattan Bridge. At this time of night, very few people were out and about, and they were not spotted entering into the container.

The meeting between the three of them had been established as soon as Stark had finalized the plan and dismissed all of them. Steve and Romanov had had a few questions for Stark and had remained behind to ask, while the others had left. Bucky would have stayed, but he had his orders and had wanted to study the blueprints by himself. It was something he remembered doing during the war, and during his Winter Soldier days – go over schematics and diagrams independent of others manipulating or commenting on it.

Outside of the briefing room, and away from the eyes of Romanov, he had caught the brief Red Room signal, establishing the meeting place and time. The request to pass on the message only to their mutual counterpart was also dictated, before his stars-and-stripes clad counterpart had left to attend to other duties. The signals had been subtle and small enough that no one else had seen them.

He had passed on the message later in the day to James, utilizing sub-vocalization to ensure that no one else heard it. He had also made sure that Romanov was not in the vicinity when he had done so, as he knew that she would be the most difficult person to deceive or keep the information from.

She was sharp enough that Bucky had had to really think of a way to keep her from following either him or James when it came time to meet up with their counterpart. It had been a while since he had to outsmart a Widow that for some strange reason, he had enjoyed the mental exercise.

The plan had been simple enough, utilizing already-established situations. He had and still hated the fact that he had had to involve Steve, and especially the nightmares that plagued Steve. Over the course of the two days, his theory as to what the meeting was about had also been solidified. Thus, when he had turned in for the night in preparation for the upcoming mission, he had gotten very little sleep, even though he knew that he needed the sleep.

Instead, he had spent most of the hours when he should have been sleeping, lying on his back on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes had occasionally stray to where Steve was sleeping restlessly. He had not held Steve's hand throughout the night, not like he had done the previous two nights. He had been afraid that when he left, if his hand was not a constant presence within Steve's hand, Steve would plunge further into his nightmares. Twice though, he had flicked his eyes over towards Romanov to see that she was sleeping as best as she could as well, given the circumstances.

Near the appointed time, that was when he had gotten up, and simply walked out of the partitioned room. It was obvious that Romanov had woken up with his abrupt departure, but as predicted, she had not followed him. It was only after James had caught up to him and sub-vocalized to him, that he learned that Romanov had initially questioned both of their departures. Nevertheless, she had realized that he too had the same problems as Steve with regards to nightmares, and that she had let the matter be.

It had been a simple plan: utilize his and James's pre-established routine of communications across realities – especially whenever he, Bucky, had nightmares – to assuage any questions as to why either of them were not immediately returning to sleep.

At the present though, as the floor of the container descended to a space underground, it was only when the weak lights began to flicker on that Bucky could not help but take a full step back from where he was standing. A chair, familiar in looks and physicality, along with the enormous metal apparatus and computers attached to it that served as the hub, sat in the middle of the underground storage. However, when the container elevator stopped, none of them moved forward yet.

“You have the super-soldier serum in your blood, don't you?”

That question asked by Barnes was more of a statement than question. Bucky silently nodded in affirmation, before clarifying with a quiet, “Variation. Not the same as the one that runs through Steve's blood. Zola was experimenting.”

He really didn't know what was running through his blood, other than the fact that he healed almost as fast as Steve, was able to survive that drop into the ravine, and could fight as fast and hit as hard, if not harder than Steve. His old metal arm had been created, designed, and enhanced to go with his greater strength, and it seemed that Shuri had designed his current arm to be similar. For what purpose, he didn't know, but it gave him some strange comfort to not have a simple, normal prosthetic arm.

“You may be the only one who can go toe-to-toe with the Red Skull and survive, then,” Barnes said, as Bucky saw him glance down at his metal hand for a moment before looking up. “The last time I fought him... well, lets just say that even after I used that device—” the younger man pointed to the programming chair and apparatuses “—it wasn't enough. Jackie got me out of there before the Skull could kill me. I spent six months on bed rest, and three more just learning how to walk again.”

“Goddamn,” James whispered.

“Good becomes great, bad becomes worse,” Bucky couldn't help but murmur.

“What do you mean?” Barnes surprisingly asked, curious.

“Something that Steve told me back during the war about Dr. Erskine's serum,” he answered. “How it also 'molded' to the person's personality, morals, or something like that. Skull in your Rogers's body is like the antithesis of everything... good... that Captain America stands for.”

Both of his counterparts were silent at his explanation, even though he knew it was vague. He had not been paying quite as much attention to Steve's words when Steve had explained that, and he didn't remember why. He just remembered mentioning something about the facial mask that the Red Skull had ripped off during the escape from the HYDRA base at Azzano.

“Why'd you have to use that thing, Private?” James asked.

“Didn't want to,” Barnes stated, finally taking a step forward and out onto the concrete floor, walking towards the device. Bucky and James followed him, as he continued to say, “but after Natalia was killed, I got desperate... and let my emotions get the better of me. I had Professor Rodchenko, the one who had created this infernal machine, wipe everything out except for my abilities and implant a priority kill order on the Red Skull.”

“Priority kill?” James questioned, as they stopped a few meters away from the machine.

“Absolute kill order,” Bucky answered, glancing over towards his counterpart of this reality and saw him nod in agreement. “Something that won't be accepted as complete until the target is verified as dead. It means that if the target is shot and disappears into a body of water, the order won't be considered complete until the target's body is found and no pulse is measured. Best way to get rid of that kind of order is to shoot or stab the target several times for good measure.”

He fell silent, glancing at the infernal machine, before shaking his head slightly. The Soviets had implanted his first priority kill order on the onset of his first deployment. The death of Dottie Underwood had proven that the order had stuck, though none of them had known that a 0-8-4 had mysteriously transported her dead body to another reality afterwards. Then came the Level targets – to scale back and make sure that the kills were done within the parameters of the mission.

“Did the order continue to stick after you were rescued, Private?” James asked after a few moments.

“Yes and no,” the younger man answered. “Rodchenko may have been the devil in disguise when he created this thing, but somehow in the course of all these years, he grew an ethics spine. He put a fail safe into the implant. The order was wiped away only when I was near-death.”

“And you want this Rodchenko guy to put the same orders in my head?” Bucky asked, glancing around, though he knew that it was a futile gesture. There was no one else here except for the three of them.

“Rodchenko's dead,” Barnes stated. “But I still have the module, and I've studied enough of this machine and how he programmed Natalia and I in the Red Room to have modified it. Given your... issues... with your memories, I don't want to implant the commands inside of your mind. Not unless I have to. I just need to know if you can kill the Red Skull.”

“You mean kill Steve Rogers,” Bucky bluntly stated, folding his arms across his chest. “You want to know if I'm still capable of killing Steve Rogers, because that is who I'm going to be fighting, when – not if, but when this whole op goes belly up. I can get the girl safely out, but I'm going to run into him no matter what.”

“Yeah,” Barnes stated, nodding once. “We're only going to be able to hold his attention for so long until he gets bored watching all of us fight. He's not going to join in the fight, not unless someone forces him to.”

“And you'll be implanting the priority kill order into your mind in the next few minutes, won't you, Private? You'll try to force him to join the fight?” James asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. “We're not just here to debate the consequences of what you're about to do and asking the Sergeant here to do. We're here to also observe and make sure that if the worse happens, neither of our reality's Rogers will get involved in the fight.”

“Why'd you think I gave you those rules to follow?” Barnes asked. “I really did not want any of you involved, or traveling to this reality.”

“The son-of-a-bitch has my—has Stevie's daughter, and the Sergeant's reality is under threat of a potential weapon of mass destruction. We weren't going to sit back and things pass,” James stated, giving their younger counterpart a pointed look.

However, Bucky had caught the stumble that the intelligence officer had tried to gloss over, and it seemed that his younger counterpart had picked it up as well. It surprised him more than he knew it really should have, considering the circumstances and what he had observed between James and Stevie. He supposed that it just never sunk in, that it would happen. He had been somewhat aware from James's discussions with him in the past through the connected com devices, that that period of time in which Caroline had been born had been extremely harrowing and heartbreaking for all parties involved.

“Your daughter?” he asked at nearly the same time his counterpart asked.

“Caroline is Stevie's daughter,” James insisted, but seemed to falter slightly before saying in a quieter tone, “I... wasn't ready... to be a father back then. Caroline doesn't know that I'm her father. I never thought it would be a problem.”

“Until someone insane builds a device that targets the DNA of Steve Rogers and his variants across realities, not realizing that it might also eliminate us as well,” Bucky sarcastically stated, sighing. In a more sincere tone though, he said, “Whatever it is, if the LMD's team or you doesn't get to the device first, I'll see if I can get to it and dismantle it.”

“Understood,” the intelligence officer answered, nodding once. “And thank you.”

“So, Sergeant, do you need the command implant?” Barnes asked after a few moments, getting back to the matter at hand.

“How did you modify it?” Bucky asked instead.

“I have it locked in with certain memories,” his counterpart answered. “It only triggers when you see the Red Skull – specifically his red eyes. That way, it doesn't interfere or activate if you happen to run into your Rogers or his.” Barnes had gestured to James when finishing that thought, before continued to say, “Or if you happen to slip in and out of that fugue that you were in while at the silo.”

“It's just a priority kill order, right? None of those extra... things?”

“Yes. Just the kill order, and the wipe on completion or near-death.”

“It won't let go if he happens to slip into a fugue before it's triggered, won't it, Private?” James asked.

“It won't. Not until the priority target is killed.”

“The best _and_ worst-case scenario, rolled up into one,” the intelligence officer murmured.

“Do it,” Bucky stated after a few moments of silence, unfolding his arms and letting them hang by his sides.

The younger man nodded in solemn agreement, stepping up to the device, pausing for a moment as he glanced back at both him and James, saying, “Captain, when I give you the signal, pull that white lever on the side. Sergeant, watch, and then tell me if you _really_ want that in your head.”

“Wilco,” James crisply answered approaching the side of the infernal device, giving no indication as to his opinions or feelings on the matter.

“Thanks for the offer, Private, but I don't feel like repeating myself,” Bucky said, also approaching and placed his metal hand on back of the chair. He turned slightly to face his younger counterpart, looking at him squarely in the eyes, and said, “I'll go first.”

 

_**End Memory: The Paths We Take** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	20. The Paths We Take – Part 2

**Chapter 10: The Paths We Take – Part 2**

 

_Bonk!_

Steve leapt up and caught the shield with an outstretched hand, sliding it back into the usual place he held it at across his left arm. He then whirled around and whacked two AIM soldiers who had been trying to advance up the left flank. They were taking the higher ground, clearing out the stream of HYDRA soldiers and bio-mechanical things who had attempted to charge at them from the main entrance, before realizing that it was better to try to surround them from the other entrances.

“Go!” Natasha called out over the battlefield and com. “Skull's in there! Go, Cap – we got this!”

He caught a brief glimpse of her fighting with the Centipede-serum enhanced Daisy Johnson by her side. Daisy was calmly using her quaking abilities to the fullest, with pinpoint strikes that tore the enemies limb from limb. Other SHIELD agents, powered individuals, along with Murdock and Falsworth-Crichton were holding off the horde that was trying to break through.

The team of agents led by the LMD and James had not been able to sneak into the facility the other way, and had been rerouted to the main entrance a few minutes ago. Knowing that he had no other choice – not if they wanted to confront and save Steve Rogers of this reality by dislodging the Red Skull, and stop him from using the reality device to escape, Steve turned and ran up.

Pushing and punching in tandem with his counterpart, the two of them plowed a way through. They were joined by Tony, whose flurry of missiles alleviated the bulk of the enemy forces left on the ramp. Barnes joined them shortly, plowing directly into and through the AIM soldiers, knocking more than a few over and into the water like a battering ram. Steve flung his shield at the rest, finally clearing the entire path up, as Stevie rushed ahead to assist this reality's Captain America.

As soon as Steve caught his borrowed shield and slotted it again, he sprinted up the ramp, forcing himself to not glance back to see how Natasha and the others were doing. He had to keep faith in them that they could hold off the horde at the foot of the entrance, and refused to let doubt sink into him.

Crossing the threshold though, brought an unexpected silence that completely enveloped him and the others. This time, he couldn't help but glance back as he stopped short of running past the others, and stared at the battle going on outside. Natasha and the others were still going strong, still holding off the enemy forces, but he could not hear anything from the battle. Judging by the confused looks as he returned his attention to the team, it seemed that Stevie and the others couldn't as well.

“Sit rep, Widow,” he immediately ordered over com.

“For fuck's sake, Steve, just fucking go!” Natasha lashed out over the com.

He blinked, catching the puzzled yet surprised look in Barnes and Stevie's eyes. From Tony, he couldn't read anything over the Iron Man suit mask that he was reading, but it was alleviated a moment later, as Tony said, “Shit, some kind of gravitational reorientation or something. We need to go in the opposite direction from the blueprints.”

“This wasn't in the system before I left,” the LMD stated, having joined them when Stevie and Barnes had taken the opportunity to charge ahead. “I can't connect or update my protocols.”

“Shit, to the central elevator then,” Stevie stated. “We don't have time to waste.”

“I have point,” Barnes stated, taking the lead.

“Copy, Winter,” Stevie acknowledged. “I have our six.”

It had been easier to just keep the call signs that Bucky, James, and the two's counterpart of this reality, the same as it had been in the silo: White Wolf, Nomad, and Winter Soldier, respectively. For Steve and Stevie, it had been determined to just use their names over the com systems, as there would be no accidental non differentiation of the 'Cap' call sign. Tony had remained as Tony, as Steve and his counterpart had not been used to calling him Iron Man over com in their realities.

Moving swiftly in a single file, the five of them, with Stevie taking up the rear, hurried along the most direct path to the central core. While it was strange to not hear any evidence of the battle going on outside, even stranger was the fact that there was no one jumping out at them to ambush them with each corner they took and cleared. Steve's unease was growing with each step closer they approached the central core.

When they emerged, there was still nothing, but it was clear that the Skull had taken the elevator, given the wait they had to engage in before the doors opened. Cautiously, the five of them slipped in. There was no button to press, and nothing from the LMD to indicate that there was any other direction that the elevator would be going in another direction other than up to where the device was.

The ride was swift, but even then, Steve's worry was growing more, as he braced himself for what could potentially come. If the Skull had already activated the device, they would have to be fast in reaching the opened portal – that is, if they reached the area in time. If the Skull was in the middle of calibration, they would most likely have to destroy the device, just to make sure that the Skull remained in this reality. If—

The elevator doors silently slid open, revealing the brutally gruesome and vicious fight that had taken place. Steve and the others with him were already taking action, as they saw Bucky splayed on the ground, _struggling_ to keep the dagger from being plunged into his right eye by the Red Skull. However, before Steve could even lift his shield and throw it with all of his might at the Red Skull, another figure had emerged from the far right.

Clad in the all-black armor – sans the mask and glasses – and armed with a revolver in his gleaming silver metal hand, the reborn Winter Soldier of this reality fired at the Red Skull.

_Bang-bang-bang-bang!_

Steve felt as if he were watching a film reel sped up so fast that it was almost impossible to follow what happened next. One moment, the Skull had been looming over Bucky, nearly killing him, and the next, Steve saw him stumbling back. Dark red blood gushed from the four bullet wounds – three in his stomach and one directly into the heart – and quickly soaked the mocking stars-and-stripes uniform that the Skull wore, as the he fell to the ground, going still.

In the next instance, a mechanical screech tore through the air, just as _something_ that resembled a bipedal robot stumbled out of the far end of the platform. It wore the Red Skull's actual visage, with glowing yellow eyes that looked menacingly at them for just a moment. The enormous _crack!_ of a sniper rifle report going off sent it to the ground. Steve hadn't even caught the incredibly fast motion of Bucky – starkly pale, with lips redder than they should have been due to the blood that was dripping from of the corners of his lips – snatching up his sniper rifle and firing it.

Even so, Steve had already begun to take the steps forward, panic rising within him. It had always been a fear of his, even before he had enlisted, that he would receive news that Bucky had died fighting some battle that the 107th had engaged in. He knew that it was a fear he had shared with Bucky's family, and it had become more acute once he had crossed overseas, with Peggy telling him about the initial fate of the 107th at Azzano.

Back then, Steve had traversed the multitude of corridors in the Skull's weapons facility when the rest of the captured men had indicated that they did not know where Bucky had been taken. All the while he had done that, he had desperately pushed the sickening feeling that Bucky was dead, aside. And then Steve had found him, found his best friend strapped to a gurney, deliriously slurring his own name, rank, and serial number. The pressure against his chest had been lifted, as the pure and sweet relief that Bucky was not dead, filled him.

_I'm with you, forward and together, until the end of the line._

Now, the strangled cry of denial was lodged in his throat as crashed onto his knees, barely aware that he had dropped his shield. The cowled helmet on his head was too confining, as he couldn't clearly see Bucky's wounds – not through the fog that had misted in his eyes. He ripped the cowled helmet off, messily wiping his eyes clear, as he tried to quash down his panic. He had to remember the brief field medic training that he had been given by one of the medics in a battalion of men they had assisted near Bastogne.

Bucky was wheezy – too wheezy – for Steve to successfully quash his panic, as he tried to search for the source noise was. Even with blood still bubbling out, he could see Bucky's lips beginning to turn slightly blue, as his eyes remained closed. Lacerated and bleeding wounds most likely sustained from fighting the Skull covered Bucky's arms and legs, but he could not find the source—

“Get that vest off of him,” Barnes's gruff voice pierced the fog within his mind. “Collapsed lung, cracked and possible broken ribs. He needs a chest tube, and dressing to hold it in place. Give me your kit.”

Steve didn't even wait for him to finish and was already carefully turning Bucky over to his side to undo the zipper on the armored vest. As soon as it was loosened, Bucky's counterpart was already turning Bucky back over onto his back, and had a knife in his hand. The shirt that Bucky wore under his armored vest was cut open. Steve held the slit open with one hand, as Barnes sheathed the knife and took out a small medical kit from one of the compartments within his waist belt. He too, pulled out his field medical kit out of the compartment on his right side, and handed it to the man.

There wasn't any sort of chest tube in the kits, but there was the basic necessities to create something similar to a chest tube. Regardless, Steve knew that Bucky needed to be evacuated out of the field if he was to be given a higher chance of surviving what the Red Skull had done to him. As Barnes worked on creating the makeshift tube as quickly as possible, Steve raised his right wrist up to speak into it, hoping that those down below could spare Spitfire – Falsworth-Crichton's call sign – for a moment.

As much as Steve wanted to be the one to evacuate Bucky out of the battlefield, he knew that she was the only one with the speed and possible strength to get Bucky out of here fast and to a doctor. He didn't get to say his request though, as James's audible growl over the com piece in his ear, and echoing throughout the cavern brought him back to the full scope of what was happening.

“Let her go, Skull,” the intelligence officer had stated.

Steve's eyes were briefly riveted towards the direction of the elevator, where Stevie, Tony, and James were standing, ready to take action. It had not fully hit him that somewhere in the battle below, or during the storming of the facility, that Barnes had somehow switched into the Winter Soldier armor. Somehow, the man had slipped into the facility through other means, and made it to the area before they had arrived.

Somewhere in that, Barnes had also given the armored variant of the Captain America uniform, and shield, to James for him to don and wield. It had been both a visual and and physical deception that had worked on the rest of them, due to the two's appearances. James, clad in the stars-and-stripes uniform with the cowl over his head, had fought with the red-white-blue and single star shield during their charge up to this area – furthering the deception.

Now though, with the Red Skull's physical bodies – robotic and human – dead, Steve felt the ice-cold horror creeping up into him again as he saw that somehow, the Skull had _jumped_ into Peggy's LMD form. Eyes that were supposed to be brown and full of life, were blood red. Even worse was that the LMD was now holding Caroline hostage. One movement from any of them, including Caroline, and the Skull would easily break her neck.

Steve had been so consumed by the shock of what this reality's Bucky, along with his reality's Bucky had done to the Red Skull, that he had barely paid attention to the fact that Caroline had been lying slightly curled up at the foot of the elevator's entrance when they had arrived. He had seen someone out of the corner of his eyes gather up the girl just before he had rushed forward in response to Bucky collapsing. He knew that he should have known better, paid more attention to the fact that he had _seen_ the Red Skull jump from physical body to a robotic one just moments before.

He also knew that he had not been the only one to have had his attention diverted to the violent end that the two Winter Soldiers had inflicted on the Red Skull.

Stevie and James had their shields held at the ready, stances mirrored, and facing the Red Skull within the LMD's body. Tony had his arms outstretched and armored palms glowing with repulsor energy ready to be unleashed. Yet, Tony was not aiming his weapons at the Red Skull, but rather at the reality device that still contained the six cubes.

“The device, for the girl,” the LMD stated, vocal distortion evident and laced with a heavy Germanic accent.

“Fuck,” he heard Barnes whispered curse. Without looking back, Steve knew that the operative's attention was now on the more immediate threat – that was how exactly they were going to get Caroline away from the Red Skull without killing her.

Crouched as he was, Steve knew that he was still in the field of view of the Red Skull, but if he could slowly reach out for his shield without the Skull seeing his movements... Steve blinked as his fingers curled and grasped air, instead of where his shield had clattered to the floor. His puzzlement as to where exactly his borrowed shield was, was short-lived as his vision briefly tilted to the side.

“Down!” came the surprising order. Steve briefly felt the heavy weight of Bucky knock him over, with his order loudly echoing in his left ear. Just as that order was stated, a whirling blue-silver disc flashed past his eyes, flung with incredible speed.

Despite how fast he had seen the LMD move before, and how speedy others claimed it to be, it was not fast enough to dodge the shield. It sliced into the LMD's left arm, and just a few inches above where Caroline's head was, shearing the LMD's arm off. The girl collapsed onto the ground, but even before she fully crumpled into a heap – still alive – two more shields were flung at nearly the same time.

Arcing red-white-blue shields, nearly of the same design, slammed into the LMD. The first one tore into and was arrested half-way within the LMD's body. The second shield slammed into the first one, and drove both shields further into the body. It also lifted the LMD's body up with enough force to directly fling the LMD into the elevator's back wall. Whether it was sheer luck or otherwise, the LMD's trajectory into the elevator's wall also happened to cause the LMD to be decapitated by the blue-silver shield already embedded in the wall.

As chilling as it was to see, and as sick as Steve felt he was about to become seeing the visage of the woman in his reality that he had loved killed in such a manner, it was not yet over. He remembered being told that decapitating the head of the Skull's LMDs was not going to kill them. They had only cut off one of the power sources and damaged the other one. To make sure that the Skull-possessed LMD was truly dead, they needed to completely destroy its torso.

Those words were also not forgotten by the others, as he saw Stevie rush in after the shields. James had reached Caroline, but Steve's attention from the girl and James was diverted for a brief moment as the headless LMD was viciously flung out of the elevator by Stevie. Stevie followed up on that trajectory by yanking two of the three shields from being embedded and flung those out as well.

In that moment, Steve had glanced over for a brief split second, seeing that Bucky was still injured enough that pushing him, Steve, away and down had taken what little strength he had at the moment. Resolve hardened, and the fact that he could see Tony moving to aim and blast the LMD with his repulsors, Steve rolled back up, jumped, and snatched the first shield out of the air.

Bringing it down, he caught the full force of a concentrated stream of energy being shot out from Tony's left palm, and braced himself. Wrenching the shield towards his left, he directed the deflected energy at the Skull-possessed LMD. At nearly the same time, Tony's right palm had also pulsed out the same stream, directly towards Stevie, who had taken the final shield in the elevator, and done the same.

Finally, just as the directed energies were about to intersect the path that the LMD had been flung into, the third and final shield had been snatched out of the air. Barnes quickly threw the shield with his left arm on a trajectory that bounced it from wall to wall like a boomerang. It pierced and drove the LMD back into the path of the intersected repulsor energy, directly wedging the LMD's torso in its path.

The guttural, garbled electronic scream issuing from the overheating torso of the LMD pierced the air, as Steve saw the entire body of the LMD begin to glow an angry red color. Still, Tony did not let up, as Steve gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay where he was, trying to make sure that he planted himself as firmly in place as he could. As the angry red glow trended towards a white-hot color, it was only after the scream abruptly stop that Tony finally released his hold on firing the repulsors.

Steve immediately turned, and ducked, bringing himself and the shield to cover Bucky. Not a second later, the LMD exploded, sending a searing blast of heat, and burning debris flying everywhere. More than a few chunks hit the shield, but it was finally over a few moments later. He blinked, and looked down to see that though there was an intense amount of pain radiating through Bucky's eyes, he was weakly nodding, indicating that he had not been injured any further in the explosion.

All Steve could do was silently nod in acknowledgment, relief sweeping through him, as he lifted the shield and turned slightly to survey what had happened. Blackened debris, some pieces still on fire, littered the area. The core of the explosion was marked by a blackened ring on the ground, but there was almost nothing left of the LMD in the center of the blast except for a small pile of ash.

“Sit rep?” Stevie called out.

“We're fine,” Barnes stated. “Device is good.”

“Yeah. We're good here,” Steve acknowledged, as he saw that Tony and Barnes had made it to the device and shielded it with their armors from the blast. James had covered Caroline with his armored body, while Stevie had shielded herself with her shield.

“Caroline is uninjured. Rattled, but fine,” James stated, the cowl on the stars-and-stripes armor having bled up to cover his head sometime between his reaching of Caroline and the explosion.

“Don't worry Mom,” Caroline called out, sounding not as rattled as James made her seem to be. “Whatever that armor is, it protected Dad and I.”

For a brief moment, Steve's thoughts and concerns screeched to a halt, as he immediately focused on Caroline, blinking in slightly surprise at her words. He was not the only one to do so, as he noticed that _both_ Stevie and James were wearing similar pole-axed expressions, staring at the teenager. It seemed that neither had ever told the girl of her complete parentage.

That moment was broken in the next second as the teenager then fiercely embraced James. It was unfortunately short-lived, but not because another threat had reared its head against all of them again. It was because James had broken the embrace, looking uncertain as he shakily stood up. The officer quickly refocused his attention from the hurt and disappointment that flashed across the girl's face, and towards the device – or rather at Barnes.

“All clear, Private Barnes?” James asked, as Steve briefly returned his attention to Bucky and slung his metal arm across his shoulders to help him up. He was careful to not bump or disturb the makeshift chest tube bound to Bucky's right side.

“Clear, sir,” Barnes answered in an unexpectedly respectful tone. “The command is gone.”

“Sergeant?”

“Clear and gone. Sir,” Bucky rasped, nodding as well.

It was only with that affirmation that it hit Steve as to what exactly Bucky and the other two counterparts of his had done to kill the Red Skull the first two times. Dismay, quickly followed disappointment and worry, as Steve could barely believe the non-verbal admission that Bucky and his counterpart in this reality had willingly _implanted_ commands within their minds. That was amplified by the fact that James of all people had **known** that the two had done so, and hadn't stopped them.

“What the hell, kid?” Tony stated at the same time Steve and his counterpart had arrived at the realization.

“We...we have more important things to worry about, Tony,” Stevie said, hesitating slightly as she took a few steps to close the distance between her and her daughter.

“Right—” Tony said, seemingly shaking himself of his shock for the moment. “Right. Cap—Steve, evac first. Get Wolf down to Spitfire – she can get him to Dr. Cho fast. We'll dismantle the Cubes and device.”

“Just need my sidearm, and I'm good, Stark,” Bucky huffed out stubbornly.

Despite everything, this was the least surprising thing of the night...day thus far. It was already near dawn, by Steve's mental estimate, and the sun would be rising soon. They had completed all of their objectives, and though the Skull was dead, the rest of HYDRA would be after all of them in a matter of hours – if not already.

“Nope,” Steve simply stated, and dragged his best friend forward a step.

As much resistance as Bucky tried to put up from being evacuated, it didn't last long. Stevie had whispered something to Caroline, and the gangly teenager nodded once before coming up to him and Bucky. Steve only needed to look in her eyes and hand over the shield he was wielding, before she slipped it onto her right arm and then went over to drape Bucky's right arm over her shoulders. The shield was necessary to protect Bucky's right side and the ugly, makeshift chest tube sticking out of him.

“Fucking hell,” he heard Bucky mutter, offering no more resistance as Steve and Caroline partially lifted Bucky, and walked as quickly as either of them dared towards the elevator. Steve kept his eyes forward or focused on Bucky, avoiding looking at the spot where the decapitated head of the LMD had remained with its eyes unpowered but open.

“Language,” he couldn't help murmur at the same time as Caroline did as well.

Despite the sorrow in his heart at what Bucky had done to himself, despite his anger and disappointment at the desperate measures that Bucky and the other two counterpart of his had taken, Steve did not question it. He was done second-guessing what his best friend did and why. It was not his place to do so anymore, as he had promised Bucky to simply be there: forward and together, until the end of the line.

This was who they both were now, and the paths that they had chosen to take.

* * *

The fuzzy, stuffy feeling within his head felt a little odd, but it wasn't something that bothered him, as Bucky slowly rose to consciousness. It was the pain within his chest that he braced himself to feel as the beeps of medical monitors began to fill his ears. He blinked awake, but the expected sharp stab of pain that he thought would come didn't. He also realized that he was breathing easier, not gasping for breath that wouldn't come.

As the ceiling of wherever he was – medical facility of some sort – resolved into tiny pock-marked ceiling tiles, he also became aware that there was someone breathing deeply, somewhat heavily, and evenly next to him. Bucky glanced over to his right to see Steve sitting next to his bed, hunched over with his head pillowed on his arms, which was resting on top of the bed. There was a sketch pad wedged beneath Steve's arms, though Steve's arms were covering most of whatever the drawing was.

Bucky wanted to reach out and brush his right hand across Steve's bangs that hung across his eyes, the action familiar to him through his memories, but it was movement out of the corner of his eyes on his left that stopped him. He glanced over to see Romanov sitting on his left, curled up in her chair and looking oddly like a cat as she stared unblinkingly at him. She had dyed her hair back to the blonde color it had been. The anticipation of the jumbled storm of memories that swirled around his mind never hit him though as he stared at her.

[ _Доброе утро, солдат_ _._ ] she signaled to him, using the specific Red Room signals for Russian.

[ _Доброе утро_ _._ ] he answered, after drawing his metal left hand out from under the cover. He noticed that she had not flinched or showed any sort of fear in her eyes when he had done that.

[ _Two days._ ] she simply signaled, giving him the amount of time he had been out. [ _The asset did not leave your side except when I forced him to._ ]

Bucky frowned slightly as he glanced over to Steve, named as 'the asset' in Romanov's signals. There was no Red Room signal for 'punk' or 'idiot' as he wanted to say, but he did not say either of those out loud. It was clear that Romanov wanted to keep this conversation non-verbal, and strictly between the two of them. She did not want to kick Steve out of the room for this though, and Bucky strangely found that oddly comforting.

[ _Status?_ ] he asked instead, returning his attention to her.

[ _The objects have been destroyed. The other Soldier had cracked the seventh one to allow for revolutionary assets to assist in delaying the pursuers. The iron asset has the device and is putting it back together._ ] she stated. [ _Notice of the red target's death has been spreading, but the regime is poised to collapse with the application of force in key areas._ ]

He nodded once in acknowledgment of what exactly was going on, even though it had been difficult for Romanov to convey the specifics using the signals. Somewhere during the calling out of the Red Skull from the facility, his counterpart had deliberately cracked the actual cube, instead of keeping it intact. Whatever energy it had, had flowed out and began affecting ordinary citizens' memories – allowing them to recall what their lives had been like before the Red Skull had risen again.

Bucky could only presume that the other six Cubes had been destroyed like the seventh one, once the reality device had been secured. It also seemed that Stark was currently working on either rebuilding or modifying it, given that Bucky did not know what exactly had happened after he had been evacuated out of the area.

He knew though, that Romanov had ulterior motives for being here, other than to make sure Steve was not worrying over him day and night. Old habits, even the ones drilled into both of them as Soviet agents, did not die – even if he could call Romanov a sort-of friend.

[ _What is your question, Red Spider?_ ] Bucky asked.

To her credit, she did not flinch at the nickname that their handlers had developed for the signals regarding the various women who held the title of Black Widow. [ _Why did you and the others kill the red target? The asset and others thought the red target could be saved._ ]

Bucky stared at Romanov for a long moment. He knew that Steve counted her among one of his closest friends in the new era that both of them lived in. He also knew that Steve was most likely somewhat aware of Romanov's bloody history. He knew Romanov from the brief missions they had served together for the Soviets and HYDRA, but with her own path to redemption further along than his was, would she understand the nuances behind the reason?

[ _Not for revenge on your death here, Red Spider._ ] he answered, deciding that that would have to be alleviated first, as he had seen the way his counterpart of this reality had looked at Romanov.

However, there was no signal for what he truly wanted to convey. Thus he whispered, “Mercy.”

“Mercy kill,” she repeated, and gave him a sad smile that reflected the full understanding in her eyes.

* * *

_A few days later..._

 

“So,” Tony exclaimed, clapping his hands together as he stepped out and away from the enormous wall of computers, screens, and racks that Steve had been told by Natasha to be server racks. While Tony's footsteps on the river-rock covered rooftop crunched with his movements, the man's gait did not look to be anything except comfortable. Even with the sun past setting, the New York summer heat was still beating down on all of them. Even Tony had shed the jacket of his three-piece suit, draping it over one of the racks, as he worked on the machines with his sleeves rolled up.

As uncomfortably hot as Steve felt in his uniform, he was a little glad that Tony had waited until night to call them up on the rooftop. As such, he now stood with Bucky to his right, and Natasha to Bucky's right. Stevie, James, and Caroline stood a few feet away from them, with Caroline standing in between Stevie and James. The young girl had both of her parents' arms wrapped around her, bringing a smile to Steve's face before he returned his attention to the matter at hand. From the looks of the device sitting in the center of the rooftop of the south tower of Confucius Plaza, it looked as if everything was also ready for inter-reality travel.

“I initially tried to isolate the frequencies based on what Murdock heard—” Tony gestured towards Murdock, who was clad in his red armor with his helmet on. “—but there were some complications... Namely, we opened a portal to a reality that contains dinosaurs.”

“We?” Falsworth-Crichton said, standing opposite of where they were, leaning against the brick wall of a shed labeled 'Maintenance'. She was giving Tony a dubious look, as Steve couldn't not help but stare at Tony in slight surprise. “You opened that portal, Stark.”

“Tell me a T-Rex is not running around the city, Stark,” Natasha spoke up, as Steve glanced over to see her looking slightly concerned yet surprised at the same time.

“Nope,” Tony said grinning slightly while shaking his head negative. “Can't speak for the alligators in the subways though.”

Natasha's only comment was to roll her eyes at Tony, while James surprisingly barked in laughter. The sound was welcomed to Steve's ears though, and he couldn't help but smile as well, catching his counterpart's equally amused look out of the corner of his eyes.

It was a good sign, after all that had happened, that they were able to still laugh and find some happiness in their lives. It was also a good sign that they were able to be on the rooftop without fear of discovery. The Red Skull was dead, but the empire that he had built had not yet collapsed. Steve could see that with a few certain applications of force and pressure in various areas, the empire that had been built would eventually crumble. There was still a long way to go for this reality, but for the first time in a long while within this reality, there was hope.

“Glad I didn't miss the farewell party.”

Steve was not the only one to turn slightly towards the source of the comment. This reality's James Barnes emerged onto the rooftop through the door, dressed in civilian clothes that consisted of black combat boots, jeans, a zipped up dark brown leather jacket, and black gloves that covered his hands. Steve thought that it was a little warm for a jacket and gloves, and it was apparent that Tony thought so as well.

“Hey, kid, you feeling okay? Bit warm for the winter weather stuff.”

“Yeah, fine,” the younger man answered, looking more relaxed and at ease than Steve had ever seen him – or Bucky and James for the matter. Barnes stopped next to Falsworth-Crichton and leaned against the bricked wall, watching the hubbub with a seemingly unconcerned air about him.

“All right,” Tony continued, causing Steve to return his attention to him. “As I was saying, so we opened a portal to a reality with dinosaurs. To get it right, I'm going to need to scan something more solid that you guys are carrying. Unfortunately, I think scanning it will also destroy it, since it needs to capture the frequency as accurately as possible.”

“Here,” Bucky immediately stated, as Steve looked over to his right to see him detach his metal arm with a few audible clicks.

“Bucky...” Steve couldn't help but begin, as his best friend walked forward, the metal arm held at his side.

Steve managed to rein in the rest of his concern though, as he knew that it was not his place to intervene or stop Bucky from donating his arm. It was a personal decision that he was not going to challenge him on – not any more. He didn't need to know the reason or reasons why Bucky decided to contribute his arm, whereas an article of clothing, boot, or even something as simple as a compartment from his or Natasha's waist belts would have sufficed.

“You sure about this, Barnes?” Tony asked, as Bucky held out the arm for Tony to take. It did not escape Steve's notice that Tony did not automatically take what was being offered.

“Don't need it anymore,” Bucky stated. “Your father in our reality stated that vibranium could absorb all vibrations. He also stated that that was part of what gave the material the strength to deflect almost anything physical – by organically integrating the absorption of the frequencies into the material properties of the rest of the metal. Theoretically then, it's holding onto that base frequency of vibration from our reality.”

“Wow,” Tony stated, blinking in astonishment. “That's... fairly accurate.”

Steve was blinking in surprise with regards to Bucky's words, though they did sound familiar... “Wait,” he couldn't help but say. “You actually listened to Howard's lecture on vibranium when he was trying to convince Colonel Philips to send envoys into Wakanda?”

Bucky glanced back slightly, throwing him a slightly exasperated look, saying, “Science was in the SSR's name, Steve. That ain't mean that I was gonna kick you awake every time Stark was giving us tech briefings.”

“Touche,” Steve couldn't help but admit that he had been verbally bested by his friend – a first in a very long while – as brief laughter from the others gathered in the area filled the rooftop.

“All right,” Tony said, nodding in understanding and took the arm.

“And we'll give this one up,” he heard Stevie state, as he saw her step up with the blue-silver vibranium shield, as Bucky returned to stand next to him and Natasha.

Steve took the quick opportunity to nod at Bucky, receiving the same answer in return. They were still good, still 'okay' with their silent affirmation. Steve still didn't need to know the other reasons behind Bucky's willingness to give up his arm, as it seemed that a sense of peace and acceptance had settled over his best friend. He looked as relaxed as his counterpart in this reality, and Steve was going to try to not do anything to ruin it.

“Great,” Tony exclaimed, hurrying to the south-east end of the rooftop to place the metal arm on the ground, before hurrying to the north-east side for the vibranium shield. Before Tony could return to the device or the wall of screens and computers, it was Murdock's reaction – a single step forward as he uncrossed his arms – to something in the dark corner of the north-west corner that caused all the good yet somewhat sad mood to disappear.

“Looks like my ride is here early,” Barnes unexpectedly stated, pushing himself off the wall and strode forward.

“Wait, what are you doing, kid—” Tony began, but fell silent for a moment as a familiar-looking figure emerged from the shadows.

Steve only had a moment to catch a glimpse of Robbie Reyes's face before it was enveloped in to the familiar burning visage of Ghost Rider. The entity stopped his approach at the peripheral of the lights that dimly lit the area up, and was seemingly waiting for Barnes to approach. The initial confusion that Steve had felt in his stomach was slowly slipping to dread. What little he knew was causing that dread, but what he did know for sure was that Ghost Rider _did not_ show up out of the blue for anything.

He had gotten the impression that there was always a price to pay whenever the entity was present. Stevie's calling out of the entity before the silo attack in her reality was one such deal and debt that Ghost Rider was repaying. What he could infer from Coulson in the bridge world was another debt repayment. What exactly Ghost Rider was doing here, and what Barnes's statement about 'catching a ride' was making him uneasy.

“Kid, we didn't negotiate any further contracts with Ghost Rider,” Tony began, hurrying back from where he had been. “The prices were already paid.”

Before the inventor could approach and stop Barnes from continuing to walk towards the entity, something flew from Barnes's hand and towards Tony. The faint clink of dog tags was heard, as Steve saw a puzzled expression appear on Tony's face as he stared at the dog tags before looking back up.

“My final request is the same as Steve's request: don't let the idea of Captain America die, Stark. Thanks for everything... and I'm sorry. This was the price to bring them here, so that you can send them home,” Barnes stated, glancing back ever so briefly before continuing on.

“No! Kid, God no—” Tony cried in panic.

Steve's denial didn't even get to leave his lips, as the flash point, transition, or whatever it was, happened so fast that not even Falsworth-Crichton was able to stop it with her super speed. One moment, Ghost Rider had extended a hand out, and the next, Barnes had clasped the outstretched hand. Fire surged up and underneath Barnes's clothing, crawling from Ghost Rider itself. Just as it enveloped Barnes's head, the man's head was replaced by a burning skull, while Robbie Reyes returned to being. However, Reyes did not stay long, and seemed to dissolve into particles of ashes and dust.

The entity turned from where it was now, and inclined his head once before picking up the chain that had fallen with Reyes's dusting. Ghost Rider wrapped the chain cross-wise around both shoulders, seemingly staring and challenging them at the same time.

“Give him back.”

Steve didn't even realize for a moment that it was not he who had said that plea, voice in anguish, but that Stevie had said it. It was the same words he had wanted to say, and he immediately followed up with, “Whatever that price is, _we're_ going to pay it. Not him—”

“You can't, Steve,” Natasha's voice broke through. Her steps forward and her turned and blocking stance in front of Ghost Rider continued to pound through the fog of denial that had enveloped his mind. Steve could not –would not believe that this was the price that was required for them to traverse the bridge reality and into this one. There had to have been some mistake, something else that could be negotiated for passage. One good man's life was not worth—

“ _We_ did this Steve. We all did,” she continued, as Steve could see the ghost of unshed tears brimming in her eyes. “He asked us not to go. We chose to. We need to go home. We need to go now.”

“Did you know, Agent Romanov?” Stevie quietly asked.

“I suspected,” was all that she answered.

“Stark, fire up the portals, please,” James quietly spoke up, as soon as their attention had been drawn to the fact that Ghost Rider had activated the fire ring portal, but had not stepped through it yet. It was as if the entity was waiting for them to cross – as if it were adhering to whatever end of the request Barnes had made in exchange for his life.

“Tony,” Falsworth-Crichton gently said, drawing their attention to Tony. “We need to do it. You know that Ghost Rider is not a patient entity.”

There was a great reluctance in Tony's expression, but Steve had no words of comfort to give him. The platitudes that he had said to friends and family of fallen soldiers would do little in this situation. He knew that those were not the right words to comfort Tony. All he could do was make sure that Ghost Rider and if Barnes was still truly in there somewhere within the entity, saw that the price was kept as it was paid.

“Everyone, stand here,” Tony said after a moment, returning to the device, while gesturing for all of them to stand within the hemisphere wall of computer screens. They complied, and even Falsworth-Crichton and Murdock obeyed the order. The only one who did not approach them was Ghost Rider, who merely stared at the device.

Tony wielded and aimed the device on the gimbals at vibranium shield first, firing a burst of green energy from the device. The bolt hit the the shield square in the center, vaporizing it into smoke, yet in its place a portal appeared. It grew from a small size into a similar size that he remembered seeing the other portals reach in the silo. The coloring of it was different, and as soon as it seemed to stabilize, Tony turned the device around and did the same to the arm.

The hum from the portals in the air was audible, and it was only Tony's, “They'll stay active so long as I got power flowing through the device, but Jackie is right. You'll have to go now.”

Stevie was the first to say goodbye to Tony, as she, along with James said their thanks to the others. Caroline had tears in her eyes, but she also looked genuinely happy to be leaving. Steve didn't think Bucky or Natasha were one for small talk or goodbyes, but it seemed both proved his assumptions wrong. Murdock had pulled Natasha aside, while surprisingly, James was quietly talking to Bucky.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said, sticking out a hand for the inventor to clasp as the others said their goodbyes. “For everything.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, taking his hand and shaking it. Letting go, he saw him scratch the back of his head for a moment before saying, “Look, I get the feeling that we had an argument of sorts in your reality – recently. I don't know what it was about, but please... don't let it get to what happened here. I don't want another of my counterparts to regret what happened.”

“I'll try not to,” Steve answered, nodding, wishing that he had better reassurances to give this Tony, especially with the sudden, unexpected, and heartbreaking loss of Barnes.

Stepping away, he turned slightly to come face-to-face with Stevie, with Caroline in tow. “Take care, Stevie,” he said, hoping that whatever she had seen in her strange dreams via the Cube was not an omen of things to come.

“You too, Steve,” she answered. “I'm glad you've made _it_ work.”

He faintly smile, glancing over to where James and Bucky were nodding to each other's words before stepping away. “It's a work in progress,” he answered. “As are all relationships.”

“Agreed.”

They stepped away from each other, just as James and Bucky returned. Natasha did so as well, and finally, James stuck out his hand. Steve reciprocated the action, shaking it, saying, “Guess this 'vacation' thing and definition needs to be worked on, huh? It was... not as 'fun' as I thought it would be.”

The intelligence officer snorted in laughter, letting their hands go as he said, “Your definition of 'fun' is warped, Captain. I hope Agent Romanov and Sergeant Barnes will be able to help you find a better definition of 'vacation'.”

“Don't worry, we will,” Natasha spoke up. “Or at least I will. I think its safe to assume that Barnes's definition of 'fun vacation' is just as twisted as Steve's definition is.”

James nodded, shaking his head slightly before saying in a more serious tone, “Take care, all of you.”

“We will,” Bucky surprisingly spoke up. “You guys as well.”

Goodbyes done, Steve was half-way in turning and taking a step away and towards their portal, when Caroline's, “Wait!” stopped him and his friends.

Out of the blue, the teenager ran up to Bucky and flung her arms around him, hugging him close. Steve saw shock, along with confusion flit across his face, before whatever she whispered in his left ear seemingly caused a happy kind of grief to appear on his face. He saw him nod once before he raised his only arm up to return the embrace. She let go after a few moments, and hurried back to her parents.

Giving one last nod to his counterpart, Steve turned, and began walking to the portal. Natasha took the lead, leaving him to walk with Bucky at his side. He glanced over to see Bucky with a peaceful, but contemplative look on his face and slung an arm around his best friend's shoulders.

“Let's go home,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, nodding in agreement. “I'm with you.”

_Until the end of the line._

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...how Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes fought, died, saved, and sacrificed, across all incarnations and realities. Yes, there is an epilogue.


	21. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Several Months Later..._

_Reality: Avengers Earth_

 

The stream was extremely cold, but incredibly refreshing, as Steve blinked the water droplets out of his eyes. Reaching over, he took the towel and patted his face dry. It had been many years since he had been here, and he remembered every single detail – sight and sound – of his last trip to this area at the base of the Swiss-side of the Alps. That day had been truly the last day he had ever felt somewhat at peace.

Getting up, he rubbed his hair and beard dry as best as possible, before draping the towel over his neck. Staring up and over the clearing in this forest and the ice-cold river that wound through it, he could see the blue-grey shadows of the Alps looming over. Their white snow caps looked so pristine, but even now, he knew that those mountains were still dangerous. If it was not the former remnants of whatever HYDRA forces were hiding out in the ruins of a base along 70-plus year old train tracks, it was the unpredictable avalanches that could claim lives.

He gathered his shirt and uniform jacket, opting to not put those on just yet, as he wanted to enjoy the relatively warm setting sun on his bare back. He did make sure that at least his lower half was dressed in the rest of his uniform. The last time he had come through here, he had not had the luxury to relax and enjoy himself – and he had been a little shier and body-conscious of himself. He did remember that the rest of the Commandos had no such compunctions, and enjoyed wading into the cold, crisp, and clear river – all of them buck naked.

Laughing slightly at the memory of his friends and their antics, he carried the rest of his clothes in his hand and slowly began to walk back to where the quinjet was. Though the journey was short, he tried to enjoy it as much as possible, wishing that he had not returned here under such circumstances. The night mission that he and his friends were about to engage in was just as dangerous as traversing the Alps during the middle of a European winter.

Long ago, he had hoped that at the end of the war, if this place remained untouched, that he would bring Peggy here to enjoy the scenery in less harrowing and more intimate conditions. Now, that was something that he could no longer fulfill, and even though it made him sad, he hoped that she was watching him from somewhere beyond, walking with him in spirit.

“You know we don't have the equipment for a Chippendales photo shoot, Steve,” Natasha's dry statement greeted him as soon as he walked into the camp.

“Just wanted to enjoy what little we have left of the sun, Nat,” he answered, grinning at her, as she gave him a mild look. She was standing at the small folding table set up a few meters away from the lip of the cargo ramp. The table was strewn with maps, a few token markers, and at least one of her sidearms weighing the main map down.

“Hey, I found the blend—” Sam's voice echoed slightly within the quinjet before he emerged from it. “Geez, Steve. Did Nat put you up to this?”

“Nope,” he answered, shaking his head slightly as he saw Sam sigh in slight exasperation. “Like I said to Nat, I just wanted to enjoy the sun. I didn't get to, the last time I was here with the Commandos. They got to do all the fun stuff while I had to be the responsible commander.”

“Okay. Well, hate to say it, but damn man, can you _please_ put on some clothes?” Sam pleaded, going over to the small campfire that looked as if it were set up to brew coffee. “I mean, I don't even swing that way, and _I'm_ already distracted by the visual.”

“What, you can't brew coffee while Steve's half-naked? Thought you claimed to be able to brew coffee in the worst of conditions.” Natasha asked, amused. “ _I'm_ enjoying the visual, so get that coffee brewing, Wilson, or I'm going to get cranky soon.”

Steve couldn't help but give Natasha a slightly dubious look, even though he knew that she harbored no such feeling for him in that way. He knew that as recently as a few months ago, he would have flushed red with Natasha's statement, but things had changed. He had to both thank and blame it on the 'vacation' he had taken into the other reality with Natasha, that gave him a new perspective on his life and those he cared about. In the end, this path that he now walked on, was similar yet different, and he wanted to fully live it the way _he_ wanted to.

Sam's response was to merely roll his eyes at Natasha before returning to brewing the coffee for the three of them. Sunning done, as a cool breeze blew by the camp and sent a slight chill down his bare skin, Steve went over and draped the damp towel next to the other two on the makeshift clothesline. He then quickly pulled the under uniform shirt over himself before slipping into the uniform jacket. Zipping it up and securing the appropriate areas, he returned to the table.

“Responsible commander?” Natasha quietly questioned in a volume so low that Steve barely heard it.

“Old me,” he merely answered.

“New you is still relatively the same,” she said, smirking slightly. “You're just more comfortable now with not caring what others think.” She paused for a moment before giving him one of her rare, genuine smiles, saying, “I'm glad for you, Steve.”

“I—” he began, frowning slightly as he knew that her words were not meant to be interpreted in the way that he had become more selfish. He didn't get to say anything more as the most unexpected electronic, three-tone chime issued up from one of his waist belt's compartments.

Startled, he fumbled at the compartment, pulling out the flip phone that was paired to the one that was calling it. He briefly stared at it for a moment, the name of the caller burned on the display. Flipping it open, he raised it to his ears as he caught both Natasha and Sam's eyes, who had come over as soon as the ringing noise started, staring at him in equal surprise.

“Tony?” he nearly choked out.

“Uh, no... it's Bruce.”

* * *

_Wakanda, many hours later..._

 

_There is always a price_ , Bucky thought to himself as he let go of Steve and stepped back, his happiness in the reunion reflected in the smile on his face.

This was not how he had planned to meet up with Steve after all of these months apart. Their arrival back in this reality a few months ago after what happened in two other realities, had both of them agreeing that it was better for them to remain apart for the time being. They had needed to pause in keeping their promise of forward and together, until the end of the line.

Even though Bucky knew that he was functional as not only a human being and not as a weapon, he still had not felt 'stable' enough. There had still been the storm leaking through the walled barriers in his mind, as evident in his fight against the Red Skull. While that had ultimately aided him in that battle, what happened in the silo in the other reality could have easily taken him over again.

Steve had surprisingly agreed with him, not because he was being mean and wanted to push him away, but because Steve understood. Bucky hadn't called him out on it, but he suspected that seeing his own self killed the way he had been killed – even if possessed by the Red Skull – by a counterpart of Bucky's no less, had rattled Steve.

However, despite that dark thought, Steve had also admitted that he himself needed to seek help, but would not impose on Wakanda any further than what he had already done. Steve had not expanded as to how he would seek treatment for his PTSD, but Bucky did not nag him about it. He knew that it was something personal that Steve had to deal with on his own. Bucky knew that he had no right to intrude upon that without explicit permission.

That had been their new equilibrium, their new 'train stop' in the paths that they walked on.

With the months that passed, the storm and fragments had slowly died, and Bucky had not sought out a replacement arm. He had gotten completely used to using his single arm, and the life that came with it. Now, it also seemed that despite the stress that Steve was under at the moment, Steve had also found a sense of peace within himself.

Though Bucky was happy to see his best friend here, and wanted to talk to him some more in private, there were more pressing matters at hand. He knew that Wakanda would eventually call upon him to serve in repayment for what they had done to heal and help him, but he never thought that it would've been to defend an Infinity Stone. The smile on Steve's face died slightly as Bucky saw worry in his eyes, as Steve turned his attention to the King and gestured for Vision to take the lead.

He had been briefed with the same information that King T'Challa had been given a few hours earlier when he had climbed onboard the King's personal transport to be taken to the city. What footage he saw recorded from civilians in New York City, coupled with the information that Steve and Romanov had sent over on the Infinity Stones made him slightly worried.

He knew Steve would not lightly call upon Wakanda for anything, especially after they had taken charge of the 0-8-4 reality device, _and_ had surprisingly tried to re-establish contact with the other reality through other means after that had been destroyed. Steve was not one to needlessly place people in the line of fire.

After what happened in New York City and in Scotland, he knew that Steve must have exhausted all other options before contacting Wakanda. The fact that Bruce Banner was going with Steve, Vision, Romanov, and Wanda Maximoff up to one of Shuri's science labs in the heart of the city was telling.

What little he knew of Banner was that the man was as brilliant, if not more so than either Howard Stark or Stark's son. It had emerged from the Sokovia Accords that Banner had been the one, along with Stark, to 'create' Vision. Dragging King T'Challa, Shuri, and Wakanda's armies into the incoming battle to protect the Infinity Stone that Vision wielded was not a risk anyone, least of all Steve, would have taken.

But this was how things were now, and Bucky knew that there were no words that he or anyone else could say to assuage Steve's worry. It could have been New York in the path of Thanos's people again. Parts of Edinburgh had already paid the price of resistance to Thanos's people.

“If you are in need of armaments, Colonel Rhodes, Sergeant Barnes, and Mr. Wilson please follow me,” Ayo's commanding voice and equally commanding presence interrupted Bucky's train of thoughts.

“Yes, ma'am,” Wilson stated, nodding once. “Thank you.”

The three of them followed her to an adjacent building from the main building that Steve and the others had gone into. Rhodes's whistle of surprise, along with Wilson's exclamation at just how much conventional weaponry was stored in this particular building covered the gamut of Bucky's surprise.

“What... don't tell me you've seen this before, Barnes?” Wilson asked, as the three of them accepted the earpieces handed to them at the entrance. After securing and configuring the earpieces and wrist com lines to the secured channel, they began walking up and down the rows and racks of what Bucky could classify as a weapons' dealer's wet dream.

“Nope,” he answered, shaking his head as he stopped before an entire five-meter in length, and at least three-meters in height rack of assault rifles of a wild variety.

“Where... how on Earth did you guys even get this much stuff?” Rhodes's voice stated from a little further down into the area.

“Confiscation during stops on drug and human trafficking, raids into organized entities that bode ill-will to our neighbors, and at least half of it from the tips that Agent Romanov delivered to us in the past few months,” Ayo stated.

“Wait, Nat's been leaving you guys the notices on our HYDRA and Red Room raids?” Wilson asked, surprised.

Bucky blinked, but it explained why some of the weapons near the back looked like older variants of the more recent haul of several modern firearms set up near the entrance. There was no answer from the guardswoman though, as Bucky hefted up a high-powered battle rifle that had more than enough clips to spare.

From what he had seen in the New York videos, he knew that they were more likely to face mid-ranged or CQC-related fights, than long range. Wakanda was most likely going to try to funnel the fight as far away from the city as possible, and that meant open plains with little to no trees for perches.

“No sniper rifle, Barnes? Steve always said that that was your go-to weapon,” Wilson asked, as he returned to where the former para-rescue was arming up on clips for his SMGs, spotting a particular set of racks that contained the other type of armament he needed.

“Not for this,” he answered, stopping before the rack that contained, from ceiling to floor, combat knives of a wide variety.

“Oh, a stab fest with Romanov then,” the man dryly stated. “After seeing her fillet a fish and skin a rabbit, I definitely don't want to see you do the same,” Wilson continued, half-muttering the words, as Bucky plucked and sheathed the usual five knives he carried in the various areas along his waist and vest. The sixth one was a dagger into his boot, and the seventh one into the shoulder sheathe.

“Sergeant, you got a moment?” Rhodes's question interrupted whatever else Wilson was going to say as Bucky turned to see Stark's best friend standing near him.

“I'll be outside,” Wilson's exit was hurried, as if the former para-rescue was trying to dodge bullets.

“Sir,” Bucky answered as respectfully as he could, even though he was no longer a part of the US military.

“Just wanted to make sure that we're okay, Sergeant,” Rhodes stated, extending a hand out for him to shake.

“We are, sir,” he answered, reciprocating the action, understanding that Rhodes was referring to what had happened at Berlin Airport and the fallout from that. “That is if you're all right as well, sir.”

“Committee didn't think so, but what is a court-martial in the middle of a crisis that no one has time to debate upon?” the officer said, nodding as they let go.

It was not a forgiveness, but it was an acknowledgment that they were allies, and that despite everything Rhodes was willing to put aside Berlin Airport and work with him. Bucky was also willing to do so as well, knowing that he would not have to watch his back to make sure that none of Stark's friends would shoot him in the back. There was some cold comfort in that though, as Bucky wished that it was not because of a crisis threatening Earth that past transgressions were put aside in this manner.

The two of them left the armory a few moments later, emerging into the bright sun. Ayo left them outside in the landing quad, next to the quinjet while excusing herself. There were a few guards still patrolling and keeping an eye on the area, but none paid the three of them any heed. It was only Wilson's statement, “We've got incoming,” a few minutes later that alerted all of them to the arrival of Thanos's invaders.

Bucky looked up, as a dark speck seemingly bloomed into a giant fireball as it crashed through the atmosphere of the Earth. He blinked once as it became more clear that it was not just one speck, but multiple ones that were hurtling towards them, somehow tracking where the Infinity Stone was. They were all headed directly towards the city, but before the first spacecraft could crash directly on top of them, it slammed into a formerly invisible domed shield spanning several thousand meters above the ground.

He couldn't help but feel relieved yet cheered at the sight of the wedge-shaped spacecraft, and a couple of others further away, blowing up into fireballs and crumbling as they hit the shield. “I love this city,” he said, grinning as he caught the tail end of Wilson's half-cheer.

“They've got more, and they're landing on the outskirts,” Rhodes's sobering comment a few seconds later returned him to a more grounded state.

A general evacuation alarm began sounded a moment later, as Bucky turned to see that Ayo had returned and was beckoning them to follow her. They did so, and as they entered what looked to be a series of underground tunnels and the like, they were joined by Steve, Romanov, and Banner. “Wanda staying upstairs?” Wilson asked.

“She's the only one strong enough to destroy any threat that gets through us,” Steve stated.

“And the only one strong enough to destroy that Infinity Stone if needed,” Romanov followed up.

“But that would kill Vision,” Banner said, looking slightly alarmed.

Neither Steve or Romanov answered that statement, but Bucky did see Steve's jaw tighten slightly. It told him that Steve knew that that option was on the table, but would not order it to be done – even though it would have been the easiest option to take.

The others seemed to consider Vision an entity and ally, not a machine. Bucky was not going to argue that point, as he knew it was not his place to do so – he had no right, even if he did not know the artificial being at all.

“Ayo, please take Dr. Banner to where we've stored that suit,” King T'Challa's voice briefly interrupted their hurried walk through the underground corridors. The ruler of Wakanda emerged out from an adjacent hall, the remnants of his armored suit crawling up and fusing together, much like what Bucky remembered seeing in the reality where the Red Skull had ruled.

“Yes, my King,” the guardswoman stated, before gesturing for Banner to follow her.

“Captain Rogers, one of my people found this for you to wield,” the King continued, as Bucky saw him hand over two objects that looked oddly familiar.

“Thank you,” Steve gratefully said, slipping the split polygonal shields onto each of his forearms, curling his fingers around handles.

It wasn't until Steve briefly activated the fullness of the shields with a press of the buttons underneath the handle that King T'Challa noticed both his and Steve's expressions on their faces. “You've seen these shields before, Captain Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a moment, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows slightly before retracting the shields' sharp points. “I apologize. Yes, You Highness. Bucky and I have seen them before. In another reality.”

“The one where HYDRA had won or the Red Skull ruled?” the leader of Wakanda asked.

To their credit, neither Romanov or Steve looked to be thrown by the question. Bucky ignored the curious look that Wilson had given him, but he knew that Steve and Romanov would easily work it out that he had briefed the King on what had happened in the times he had crossed into different realities. Bucky felt that he owed it to Wakanda at least that much to let them know the gist of what had happened. Not to mention the possible threats to their world, though he had left out a lot of his own personal experiences and had stuck to the facts.

“The one where HYDRA had won,” Steve stated.

“Ah,” was all the King said, nodding.

“Your Highness,” Steve said after a moment, the frown remaining on his face, as Bucky thought it got a little deeper. “There was one thing I didn't initially brief you on, because I thought it wasn't real... wasn't true. It was also because Dr. Banner said that he saw Thor die.”

“It was just a dream, Steve. Something brought on by those weird Cosmic Cubes,” Romanov cautioned.

It took Bucky a moment to remember that Steve had a dream-vision about something related to what they were about to face. But like Romanov, he had also dismissed it as nothing more than a dream – a warped manifestation of Steve's nightmares.

“I think Thor is still alive,” Steve insisted. “He's Asgardian. We know they don't injure or die easily.” Romanov looked as if she wanted to argue the logic, but held her tongue as Steve returned his attention to King T'Challa.

“I don't know what Thanos is trying to achieve with the Infinity Stones, but I think its activation when all six stones are embedded in the gauntlet, is a snap of his fingers. If it comes down to that, we will need to make sure it doesn't happen – by any means necessary.”

“I understand, and thank you for letting me know. I shall pass it onto my people to make the necessary preparation,” the King answered, nodding as he touched and manipulated something on his suit's wrist to established the necessary com lines. “I hope that we do not need them.”

Concern bloomed in Bucky as he heard the implications in Steve's words. He knew how selfless of a streak Steve had. Yet, he was not about to standby and watch his best friend potentially be the one who remained behind, and prevented this Thanos asshole from activating the stones through the gauntlet. He was also not going to standby and let Steve remain as a target alone while Wakanda potentially bombarded Thanos with missiles from above, or any other types of high-tech weaponry.

They had made a promise.

“Steve,” Bucky said, reaching out and briefly placed his hand on Steve's left shoulder, while continuing to walk beside him.

Steve turned his head slightly, and Bucky saw the depth of the promise still within those blue-green eyes of his, as he silently nodded once. Steve had not forgotten, and if this was the end of the line for both of them, then Bucky would remain behind as well. His best friend was not going to tell him to escape, or get out of the blast radius of whatever weapons the Wakandans were going to try to bring to bear on Thanos.

They were with each other, until the end of the line; in life and within the line of duty.

 

~*~*~*~

 

FINI

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, the “In the Line of Duty” series was not supposed to be a series; just a fic called “A Million Shards Falling”. The original epilogue of that fic was supposed to have the cast of the Fallen SHIELD Reality sending a drone of sorts through the 0-8-4 and witnessing the events of the Battle of Wakanda during Avengers: Infinity War. Then it got expanded into a series when I realized just how much fun it was to write Bucky and Steve's adventures post-Civil War, and during WW2. I had also wanted to explore the possibility of what Bucky had done during the Cold War, hence the “Winter's Ghost” fic. “In the Line of Duty” will be written next (as of the date of this posting), and then followed by “The Lines Like Dust” to round out the entire series.
> 
> Thank you readers, for all of the kudos, comments, encouragement, and constructive criticisms. I also wanted to leave you readers with a few clarifying notes with regards to points made in this particular fic (series in general, but that's up to your interpretation):
> 
> **1\. Expecting this to be a primarily 'ship-heavy fic** : as with the first fic's notes, this is first and foremost a war/spycraft story. I much prefer to write action/adventure and plot-heavy fics that expand on the universe that I'm writing in. It also means that I tend to shove 'ships to the side.
> 
> Because both Steve and Bucky, along with their counterparts are professional soldiers, realistically, they also tend to lock down anything personal that does/will not contribute to mission success. That doesn't mean they're robotic – they just deal with the emotional fallout later and in their own ways – until something big enough happens that cracks through their professionalism (ex: Steve's final words at the end of A:IW). I had Steve, Bucky, and Natasha plowing through days upon end of a lot of high stress that it eventually gets to the point where when they get a chance to relax, it's very difficult for them to do so. This reflects real-life, which is what I usually use to ground the series.
> 
> **2\. Bucky and Steve's relationship** : neither of them had ever said 'I love you' to each other in this fic. Not even in the first fic. It's kind of obvious that they love each other, but as Natasha pointed out several times in “Winter's Ghost” and in this fic, Bucky and Steve's relationship with each other is incredibly complex. There is both brotherly and romantic love in there, but there is also so many other things, including an unhealthy co-dependency on each other. That's not to mention that they both are suffering from PTSD (and that Steve isn't seeking enough treatment for it).
> 
> It's implied that since Bucky has been talking to a therapist in Wakanda, and getting his PTSD addressed, he's been made aware his and Steve's co-dependency on each other. He has been trying to rectify it, which has contributed to his reluctance to contact Steve in the beginning of the fic. That doesn't mean neither do not still deeply care for each other, it's just that Bucky somewhat understands and knows that whatever they have, they both need to get mentally better before they can attempt to really figure out what they really mean to each other.
> 
> **3\. WW2 flashbacks** : for those who don't know, being gay back then carried a potential, and very likely death sentence (see Alan Turing, and the terrible thing that his government did to him after the war). It's a slight spoiler for those who haven't read the WW2 -era fics in the series, but the original character of David Brewster is gay. In one of the flashbacks, it's implied that Bucky is well aware, and is helping David hide that fact by encouraging him to 'date' Emily Hattersfield, who is also aware. Other than that particular memory, the rest are just there to show just how far Bucky had fallen by the time CA:TWS happened, and how devoted Bucky had been in making sure Steve was safe, healthy, and happy.
> 
> \-----  
> Thank you again, and see you in the next fic! Cheers!


End file.
